


Edge

by LegendofMajora



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 128,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinra sighs. It's not a good thing when he does and also runs a hand (his fingers are trembling) through his hair. He looks worn out like someone kicked his puppy and set it on fire. Maybe not quite that. But the similarities are striking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Takes a Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a village to save a life.

_~_

 

_...And when they find this body, I hope they burn it.  
_

  
Sometimes after he's had a morning cup of caffeine or sugary drink—especially hot chocolate with little marshmallows made by Celty—an unexpected request either for a day out from Celty or a sudden patient can startle Shinra. Rarely, though, because he's had years of random patients from sudden drop-ins to literally dropping in from his ceiling (courtesy of Shizuo, usually) but can never get over when his beloved Celty asks if he'd like to do something or offers to make him something. The little moments count.

And of course, the answer is always yes. That surprise he always looks forward to because it doesn't happen often and when Celty does ask, it takes courage and trying to appear cool when he knows she's flushed and he likens it to a schoolgirl asking out her crush. _In your dreams,_ she reminds him with the same punch to his arm because she doesn't understand that even men his age have fantasies. And well, Celty happens to be charming, like a dream he doesn't want to wake up from. Best part is, it's real.

So when Celty suddenly storms in holding something that suspiciously looks human shortly after dinner and a sudden request from Shiki-san which made her leave with an abrupt goodbye, Shinra doesn't even blink. His eyes are glued to his computer screen as he reads a fascinating article on the science of dreams. He knows that there's a patient, he hypothesizes, waiting for him in another room where Celty has just gone which he has dubbed the makeshift "guest room" for his unplanned house calls. It's probably a bullet wound or a victim of a stabbing incident, but he's slightly curious this time because Celty was rushing inside, which usually means something is up.

[Shinra! Come quickly!] Celty's name in a chat window pops up with a message. He hears clanging noises of what he thinks is Celty looking for his medical supplies and decides to figure out what the commotion is being caused by.

"Celty? What's going on?" Shinra knocks once on the door to the guest room before entering and suddenly the world seems to be spinning too fast when Celty shoves his to-go bag in his arms and her PDA in his face.

[Izaya isn't breathing. I don't know what's wrong with him but I was assigned to check on him and I found him in his apartment.]

Shinra nods, taking his utensils and heading over to the spread out bed. The informant Celty picked up is true to form: still and far too silent to be sleeping. He sets to setting up an IV with fluids after starting the oxygen mask he luckily remembered to save after getting it as a joke for his birthday. The headless motorcyclist attends to setting up other devices she realizes Shinra will need while he tries to diagnose the condition of his charge yet her hands still shake as she tells herself that Izaya will be fine. She only hopes that she isn't too late.

"Suspected drug overdose," Shinra murmurs aloud to himself, lifting Izaya's eyelids and waving a flashlight over the pupils and clicking his tongue. "Decreased body temperature accompanied by excessive sweating, arrhythmia, pinpoint pupils, low blood pressure," he pauses, feeling swelling in Izaya's left arm and rolls the sleeve up to realize that there is a blackish purple bruise swallowing his arm—has it always that small?—in steadily increasing swelling. "Blue color to lips and nails from shallow to no breathing." All the tests narrow the possible list of poisons down and confirm the diagnosis of an overdose but it bothers Shinra when he makes a conclusion. "Opioid overdose. Celty, I need Naloxone from the drawer at the bottom right, syringe administer." There are other symptoms that don't look like they're from overdose and the fact bothers Shinra immensely.

The medication reaches his fingers before he has remembered to reach back and the brief touch of trembling fingers makes him release the breath he had been holding. There is no time to be hesitant as Shinra administers a safe amount of Naloxone through IV and takes time to shift Izaya to his side so that his patient cannot choke if and when he vomits. The bruising arm comparable to the size of a twig is carefully moved out of the way while Celty supplies pillows to support Izaya's back and keep him in place. Celty feels strange bumps when her fingers touch the fabric of Izaya's shirt and she wonders with too many questions at once. This is a time where she wishes she could speak while her fingers tap on her PDA at incredible speeds.

[Is he alright?] Shinra reads Celty's words with a second's glance and he's slightly at a loss for words. On one hand he wants to assure her with his young arrogance and self-confidence that Izaya's going to be fine and she shouldn't doubt his abilities, but the other part of him wonders if it's morally acceptable to joke about his friend who has been reduced to the near accurate form of a skeleton who is ice cold and unconscious. The bedside monitor is set up because Shinra's nervous and that usually doesn't happen because he's always confident.

When he connects the pulse ox Shinra is startled by the fact he can feel almost every bone in Izaya's hand and he takes a moment to notice that Izaya does not look okay. His cheeks are sunken in, almost, and with his clothes on he looks so small and why didn't Shinra notice this before. Having chosen not to answer Celty's question, Shinra asks her to kindly bring some blankets because Izaya's skin is freezing.

After Celty leaves the room Shinra cuts open Izaya's clothing in the defense that he's concerned that this may not just be a drug overdose and when he cuts the first article, Izaya's shirt, a noise that doesn't sound like a reputed crack doctor escapes him. And when he is finishing up with the skinny jeans Celty unfortunately has walked in.

Shinra hears the blankets spill on the floor after the squeak of her slipper skidding to a sudden halt. He bets that he probably would've heard something akin to a gasp or even a shriek (he'd get punched for that one) if she had her head. But the reminder that Izaya is in critical condition keeps her moving, picking the blankets up and lying them on the bed before she can even think to stop and question what she's seeing. She even considers the possibility of being drugged because now seems to be the perfect time to question the absurdity of everything that has happened tonight.

Izaya's leg is broken in a classic v-shaped Gosselin fracture and swelling has already set in similar to the swelling of his left arm and interesting in the fact that both injuries are on the same side of his body. Shinra remembers bruises on Izaya's left ribs and extending down his abdomen and wonders if Izaya was hit with extreme force. Shinra is not panicking.

The heartbeat coming from the machine is weak but growing stronger as the antidote takes effect, slowly raising the blood pressure although still dangerously low. The clammy feel of Izaya's skin is beginning to fade even though the worse isn't over yet. Shinra is confident Izaya is okay. What he doesn't know is if Izaya has brain damage or any other internal injuries he hasn't discovered.

The question _why_ is no doubt on both of their minds. At the tip of Shinra's tongue he's been biting down on and thrumming in the pulse of anxiety in Celty's fingers. _Why_ is he hurt like this; _why_ did he overdose, _why is he hurting like this._ And as a doctor, Shinra's job is to answer these questions. However there is more than one solution and far more problems he doesn't know how to answer.

Okay, focus on the right now. Stable pulse, rising blood pressure. Temperature low, but improving after Celty drapes blankets on Izaya's sleeping form. His lips and hands are still blue which makes Shinra uncomfortable but he reassures himself that Izaya's going to be okay. The overdose has been assessed and treated with usual recovery symptoms. So far the danger of organ failure is a lighter pressure on Shizuo's brain but there is where the next problem lies.

Izaya is dangerously thin. Not the regular skinny from running away from Shizuo and who knows what followed by not-so-great meal choices, but enough that Shinra knows in the back of his mind that Izaya does not have a weight problem.

The words dance, like poison waiting to be swallowed and bite into the veins with just one drop onto his held tongue. But kept inside they're still bitter and acidic like painkillers. This is more than a flirtatious invite to the masquerade.

It is the dance, he knows, of a mental disorder hiding in the clothes of illusion and tricks of light. And for all he knows one step wrong and Izaya would be the one crashing down.

He'd just wished that he could've seen this sooner. But with this type of self-mutilation he knows (watching too many documentaries at two in the morning after a fight with Celty) what he can see isn't as troubling as what's underneath. He's not trained in treatment of mental wounds and—he prides himself at being one of the best doctors there is but—he doesn't know how to fix a broken mind.

(There is a disturbing confession that tightens his chest when he looks at Izaya. It burns and churns like indigestion of battery acid and waits to overflow. It's only a matter of time, he knows.)

Somehow, he knows someone who is. And as gruesome as his job is and despite the skill he's acquired over the years, Shinra is unsure of himself. At a loss, really. His mind is buzzing with anxiety and questions which make a very toxic combo in terms of inebriation and he starts feeling dizzy just from thinking anymore.

"Celty, would you mind calling over Shizuo?" he keeps his voice even as he forces himself to come to a logical plan of action. Only thing is he doesn't know the outcome of each and every step—or whether or not Izaya will make it to _any_ of them—stop that. Breathe. In, out. Izaya's going to be fine.

[Okay. What for?] He feels that bubbling confession sticking to his tongue like cotton and ipecac syrup and forces himself to swallow it down. Celty looks confused but upset, and he doesn't want to hurt her any more than he has to.

"I need to talk with him. Somehow I have a feeling he's involved in this." he curses himself because that just sounded like something much darker than he meant it to come out as. And before he can apologize for his out-of-place nervous chuckle, Celty nods and leaves after her fingers fly over her PDA.

From inside the room Shinra hears Celty close the door before he peels off the blankets that rise and fall like leaves: shaky and frail under the rasp of the ventilator. He's careful not to brush against the bruises darkening by the minute or the suspected broken arm but he can't help the jutting knob of Izaya's hip from accidentally brushing against his fingers and no, he did not just shudder right then. He's a human doctor, not a coroner.

Shinra takes out his phone and takes pictures of Izaya during the only time he will behave while his mind boggles with what he's going to do. This, he cannot deny, is one of his better moment's notice decisions he's made in a while; he doesn't want Celty to see more of this than she has because he knows it's hard on her, even if her relationship with Izaya isn't too clear for going past work. He notes the possibilities of what to come from bringing over Shizuo and realizes that his quick decision has, in fact, turned out more in his favor. But there's just so much to do and too much cluttering his head that he decides numbly to not over think what's not at hand.

Izaya is still sleeping peacefully, gently turned back onto his back once his heart rate and blood pressure rise out of immediate danger and he concludes that the antidote is successful. His first-hand assessment of Izaya informs him that the informant is dangerously dehydrated and—why does he cringe—malnourished. Since the IV fluid is important Shinra decides to hold off on the feeding tube and decides to take blood tests to send to a friend who specializes in mental disorders.

While he takes blood samples he glances at the clock on his phone and wonders how long it will take for Celty to arrive. Other concerns like how was he going to explain this to Shizuo were prominent in his train of thought but again he forced himself to stay on task to the patient. This was about Izaya.

His chest is clenching painfully. There is so much he wants to say to Izaya and to himself; mainly reassurances that Izaya's going to be fine but that's only scratching the surface of the sheer amounting guilt that builds up and makes his pulse throb in his ears and the feeling that _he'd let Izaya down_.

At the back of his throat is an apology. For what, he isn't entirely too sure he can cover all the reasons. Seeing his childhood friend like this doesn't seem real, but neither has this entire evening from the moment Celty had come rushing in. He laughs bitterly at himself in a derisive chuckle which he immediately scolds himself for and keeps the uneasy silence occupied as he moves the vials of blood to be stored for testing.

When he returns to Izaya he shifts more blankets over him because he thinks he just saw the informant shiver. Carefully Shinra tucks blankets in under the injured limbs and over the rest of Izaya's body. He's thankful one of the blankets is electric and gently covers Izaya with it underneath the layers of other blankets and turns it on to the lowest setting. The feeling is too surreal, Shinra muses when he admires his handiwork. Izaya looks like a doll tucked in for the night besides the bruises dotting his skin like a finger painting. His hair is thin, Shinra adds this to his list of symptoms, splaying over the pillow like a reverse halo. In sleep, Shinra decides, Izaya is not an informant, but akin to a small child.

Two words come to his lips and snarl behind his teeth, demanding to be spoken. His tongue rolls in discomfort and he forces the words back because he cannot allow his emotions to control him now, not when Izaya needs him to be a doctor. But, he reminds himself bitterly, as a friend Izaya also needs him.

His phone rings with a text message he doesn't answer while he tends to Izaya's arm, carefully prodding the bruised flesh of his forearm. The device buzzes a second time in a seemingly aggressive manner that fades into silence and lost to the doctor. He doesn't have his equipment ready but will need to take scans of Izaya's body to assure that he has covered all of the damage and treat the types of breaks he has. In the background he can hear more buzzing seconds after each other.

He leaves Izaya again, uncomfortable in doing so but reminds himself sternly that it is only to start up his machines and remembers to check his phone when he heads back.

[I haven't told Shizuo anything. I think it would be better if you explained.]

[He's not cooperating. What do I do?]

[Okay, I got him. What are you doing? Answer your phone.]

[Is Izaya okay? I don't know how he's going to handle this. I told him that it was important.]

[Is this a good idea? You know that Shizuo and Izaya don't exactly...get along.]

[Pick up your phone! We're almost there. Heavy traffic for some reason.]

[I swear, if you don't answer me I'm going to ignore you for an entire week. Answer me!]

Shinra chuckles to himself under his breath, amused at Celty's antics and realizes she's been gone for only ten minutes. Mentally he composes what he's going to say in his email and to Shizuo, glancing at Izaya often for any signs of improvement as he taps out a hasty reply.

_[Sorry. Izaya's doing better, but I need to run some more tests. And don't worry about Shizuo, just try to keep him restrained when I talk to him. I don't think he'll like this, but...]_

He shakes his head and deletes the last sentence before sending it. Sighing, he rolls his shoulders to work out a growing cramp and comes to check Izaya's vitals again. The bedside monitor reads steady but there is a gnawing in Shinra's chest that won't let him compose himself into the emotionless doctor he needs to be. Those two words hiss and he thinks he finally understands the reason humans have a guilty conscience.

Izaya is still, sleeping without a care and probably wouldn't wake until tomorrow morning at the least. This gave time for Shinra to handle other people first before he would have to face the inevitable. Facing Shizuo, he reasoned, was entirely different manner than getting Izaya's story. Mainly because he doesn't know how much it will crush him when he hears what Izaya has done.

His phone buzzes right before he hears footsteps. Without looking he knows it's Celty and Shizuo when the front door is unlocked and opened. Strings of conversation travel to where Shinra is and he's thankful that Celty doesn't come into the guest room. A last glance at Izaya to make sure he's going to be fine while Shinra is absent only calms him slightly and he braces for impact when he steps out into the living room.

"So what's going on, Shinra?" Shizuo greets him almost immediately when he hears the door to the guest room open and removes his blue sunglasses. The doctor looks worse for wear. He starts to consider the gravity of the situation when the doctor only nods in reply and comes to stand across from where Shizuo and Celty are sitting on the sofa.

Celty and Shinra share a glance that makes Shizuo mildly uncomfortable because there are no words spoken like a silent agreement and he doesn't appreciate being kept in the dark. His temper flares slightly as he clears his throat. "So?" he should feel bad for being rude, but he's not one for deciphering secret glances and heavy silence.

"Shizuo, I need to run this by you first." Shinra speaks carefully like he's treading on glass. His voice is plain and even as if it's been scripted and it only serves to make Shizuo itch in his skin. He hates the serious mood that clogs his throat when he first arrived at Shinra's apartment. "When I'm explaining to you, I need to be sure you're not going to react...violently. But because of your involvement I need to inform you of what's going on. You can choose to have your own opinions, but hear me out. And I want answers from you as well."

Shizuo narrows his eyes (is Shinra mocking him?) and bites the inside of his cheek and forces a stiff nod. Blood trickles over his tongue in a bitter metallic path. Celty shifts beside him and crosses her legs while Shinra pulls up a seat and sits, still across from them and is giving Shizuo a weird look that looks like a cross between stoicism and constipation. Okay, maybe that wasn't the right word for it. But _still._

(No, he wouldn't, right?)

Shinra takes a breath and Shizuo can see his fingers are twitching. "The reason why you're here, I bet you're wondering, is because of a job that Celty was contracted to do tonight." Celty shifts again at her name and Shizuo's suspicions are pouring in and he's starting to feel more than just uncomfortable, but downright scrutinized. He resists the urge to fidget only because he wants to prove to Shinra that his assumptions about his temper are ridiculous and he _can_ handle this, thank you.

"But before we get into that, I want to know something first." Really, Shinra? Okay, considering the sudden pauses in the flow of his words and now the sudden change of topic don't necessarily help Shizuo feel any better about being here and being watched like an insect. Speaking of which, that reminds him of—

"When was the last time you fought with Izaya?" Well, that is unexpected. And what does the flea have to do with this, anyway? But Shinra is giving him a stare that's analyzing him carefully and Shizuo decides to drop it. He doesn't connect the dots just yet.

"Last week." Honest. Stop looking like that, Shinra. He hasn't seen the flea since Tuesday and since it's Friday now he starts to ponder where Shinra's going with this. He's not stupid, just unsure of how to proceed in thought because he's tired and it's a quarter until twenty-three o' clock. He'd rather not think about the flea when it's this late.

Shinra accepts his answer with a thoughtful nod but relief doesn't come for Shizuo. "Alright. What did you throw at him then?" What? Why would he remember what he threw at the flea a week ago? Why does this even matter?

"I didn't. The flea ran off before I could get any damage on him." Well, he did throw a couple things, but he didn't check to make sure he hit the flea. And by the way Shinra gives him an accusing glare and taps his fingers on his arm he should probably extrapolate. "Fine, fine. I threw a couple things at him but I didn't check to see if I hit him." He bites harder on his cheek and fixes Shinra with his own rough stare. "What does this have to do with anything? Are you going to tell me why I'm here or what?"

Shinra sighs. It's not a good thing when he does and also runs a hand (his fingers are trembling) through his hair. He looks worn out like someone kicked his puppy and set it on fire. Maybe not quite that. But the similarities are striking.

"Izaya has a broken arm, leg, and possible other internal injuries. He's covered in bruises, and..." he stops, unsure and looking like he doesn't know how to proceed. Theories are reluctantly coming together in Shizuo's thoughts that have to do with Izaya just complaining like the flea he is but the nagging feeling that it doesn't constitute Shinra bringing him over and acting like this. Something's up, he can obviously tell. And despite his best efforts he can feel his anger rising in him because he feels ridiculous for Shinra calling him over for a stern reprimand on attacking the flea when he's not five and doesn't notice when Celty puts a hand on his, where he has driven his nails into his thigh.

"I'm going to be brutally honest. There's no point in this anymore." Shinra's eyes flicker to the blood seeping through Shizuo's clothing and the blond curses and removes his hand. Celty gets up and retrieves a washcloth. "Izaya is in the guest room right now. I know you could care less about him but— _listen_ to me, Shizuo. Izaya is in my guest room because Celty found him in his apartment and he was not breathing. He overdosed on drugs, which my guess is painkillers considering the extreme amount of pain he must be in from having his limbs forcefully broken." Shinra's voice is deadly and calm, which stops Shizuo's anger in its tracks and Celty when she turns from the sink.

"But what worries me is that he was severely dehydrated and malnourished to the point of becoming a _skeleton_. I know the human body and I know Izaya hasn't always been this way. So I need your cooperation on if and when you noticed any changes in his behavior or appearance and I don't care what you think of him because this isn't just some incident, Shizuo. _He tried to kill himself_." Shinra is shaking when he speaks and his voice cracks and fades when the last sentence escapes his lips. It looks like there's more he wants to say and it's painfully obvious but the doctor closes his mouth, inhaling deeply and sighing as if it will calm the trembles. Celty is frozen in place and Shizuo doesn't know what to think or do.

The silence hangs. Then Celty brings Shizuo the wet cloth and goes over to Shinra, touching his shoulder when he's been staring at the floor. Shizuo decides to clear the silence by clearing his throat, gaining the attention of Celty and Shinra but suddenly finding his mouth dry.

"I...uh..." he swears under his breath at the fumbled mess of a coherent thought. It's really not his fault he doesn't know how to react. He's not a stranger to violence (especially to the flea—Izaya) but self-violence he isn't sure he knows. Unintentional, always, but intentionally he never means to hurt himself. (Did Izaya? Well, of course he—)

"I understand if you're confused." Shinra consoles him. If? "But that's what this is. I don't know why this happened or what drove him to—" he swallows and licks his lips, "Anyway, I am going to need your cooperation. Izaya needs us to be there for him, and I want to make sure he knows we will be."

"Wait, what? There's no way I'm going to—" Shizuo realizes in the back of his mind how selfish he's being but he can't control the rage from Shinra suggesting that _he_ should help the stupid flea and his hands are itching to break something. Before he can even consider it, Celty has restrained him at the wrists and is probably shooting him a glare with her other hand tapping out a message on her PDA.

[Don't you even think about it. You're being selfish, Shizuo. He needs you, and you are not going to let something like rivalry get in the way of helping him.]

Celty's words register guilt. Shinra only adds the burn to the sting, "I don't care what you say. You and I both know that your so-called hatred isn't what you think it is." Shizuo shoots him a dirty look that should kill Shinra if it was possible. "Izaya is the one _we_ will be helping. I don't accept any other answer and I'm not going to listen to a tantrum. You can go home but tomorrow morning I want you here. Am I clear?"

The authoritative take Shinra has used stuns even Shizuo into silence. This night's been filled with surprises, however, and Shizuo wonders what he was expecting before. But everything he's heard has been clear, no missing parts or only one side of the story. Not even opinion. Just fact. And grudgingly, Shizuo realizes this. There has been no room for emotion in the heavy atmosphere of Shinra's apartment. This is the end of the discussion.

Shizuo swallows and accepts the washcloth from Celty who releases his wrists. "Okay." Just an affirmative. There's nothing more to say because Shizuo has admitted defeat. No, more like he admitted fault. The severity of what's going on won't hit until tomorrow, anyway.

Although the talk feels as if it's been brief and restrained for only a couple minutes, the time is twenty-three thirty. Shizuo rubs his eyes and wonders if he'll even get sleep tonight.

Shinra nods. But a question interrupts the silence. "Is he...can I see him?" Shizuo isn't sure if that's what he wants because his head is filled with questions and he doesn't know that so is Shinra's.

"No." the answer startles him. He doesn't expect Shinra to deny but then he slowly understands the possible reasoning given—"It's not that I'm angry at you. I'm not. I just think it's better for you to go home and get some rest. Tomorrow when he's awake you can see him. Let's just end this here for tonight."

Shinra doesn't realize that Shizuo is in disbelief at this. Seeing him when he's awake? Is he insane or just not thinking? When that flea's awake, he'll only make Shizuo lose his temper and—

"I know what you're thinking. And I trust you, Shizuo, to handle yourself. This isn't about you." Shinra's words bite and sink into his skin. Anger bubbles in Shizuo's veins but he can control it now. The realization of where he is and what he's doing sinks in with the numbness that starts in his brain.

On the way out Celty drops the dirtied washcloth into the sink and closes the door behind her. Shinra contemplates what he's just said and tries not to let his conscience reprimand him for the bitter words he'd given Shizuo in parting. But, he reasoned, he was a crack doctor. Not a certified board-approved wishy-washy poster child. Or robot.

He is almost tempted to sneak a sleeping pill because he knows that tonight will not bring him comfort in dreams.

Three in the morning has Shinra on his computer, typing an email in the silence of his apartment. Celty retired to bed shortly after she came home and bade him a goodnight. The words failed to comfort him, however, and he spent some time attempting to sleep. The original plan was to at least have some rest to form a coherent email to a friend, but the ideas swirled in his mind and the words unspoken kept him blinking awake from gruesome daydreams playing behind his eyelids.

He gives up on the pursuit of dreams, opting instead for the computer to tap away his thoughts after several hours had passed with no luck. The bedside monitor in the room next to this continues to beep softly with each pulse of Izaya's steady heartbeat under the soft thrum of the ventilator (he'd changed the mask to a simple nasal cannula out of—not pity, mind you—the selflessness of his own heart) that continues to scratch against his ears and compile into a late-night symphony of life.

Eyes raw from unblinking Shinra winces when he blinks and the burn catches him off guard. Re-adjusting his focus he reads over the email again, correcting several spelling errors and then deeming it satisfactory enough to get the message across. A headache pounds against his skull that has continued to grow worse as he wrote the message, but now when he pauses it seems to have reached its climax. Now to the next part.

The USB cord connects his phone to the computer and he doesn't steady himself when the images on the phone connect and transfer to the computer. Mainly they're of Celty or himself with Celty, even a rare one of Shizuo with a sly smile and flipping him off. For tonight the focus is not the happy images. Under yesterday's date are the pictures Shinra took and in reflex he blinks several times before reminding himself that this is his job.

Images selected and attached to the email Shinra sends it. After the message receipt pops up Shinra rubs his face nonchalantly in an attempt to only prove that he's just tired and it's not the worry that's tugging the headache around his skull.

Checking the clock on the wall—three twenty-two—Shinra surmises that it's time to check up on Izaya and shuts his computer off with a careless press of the power button. His phone is left on the table when he rises, stretching the kinks out of his spine and padding with bare feet into Izaya's room.

The door clicks open and groans when Shinra steps in and squeaks when it's closed behind him. He doesn't turn on the lights but keeps the window open as his source of natural light. His breath isn't held when he approaches the monitors because he's sure that Izaya is stable and worrying won't tell him what will happen to Izaya.

However, something is bothering him. It troubles him and he doesn't understand why it affects him like this— _not_ crying, _not_ him—but he supposes it's the lack of sleep and how fast the evening has gone and maybe he shouldn't have had that sugary take-out for dinner. The weight of it all, really, is in his pocket. It has been since Celty came back and after he took Izaya's ruined clothes from him. In the pocket of Izaya's jeans he found a sliver of paper, the only thing he found. And he almost mistook it for trash but he had stuffed it in his pocket of his pajama bottoms to throw out later.

He decides, after several minutes of silence watching Izaya's chest rise and fall under the blankets he's wrapped in, to throw out what's been weighing in his pocket like a stone.

And it shouldn't be this odd. It's probably nothing, anyway. Shinra's sure he's tired and since it's morning technically his body's sleep cycle is suffering. But his brain conspires if there's a meaning, like a significance to the piece of paper in his pocket that he hasn't dared to look at. The notion, however, is completely ridiculous though. Why would Izaya care about a piece of paper in his jeans pocket? It was just trash, right?

So, hand (shaking) moving into his right pocket he pulls out the piece of paper (gingerly) and decides to unfold it.

And then his heart stops.

Shinra ushers his other hand to cover his mouth while the other is tightly clenching the piece of paper and he is _not_ crying because it's just a piece of paper and so what if there are words on it and maybe it looks like Izaya's handwriting but (it can't be) that's just a theory. Besides, his eyes are blurry from lack of sleep and certainly not tears because there's no reason to cry over a scrap of paper with words on it. And despite his best efforts his cheeks are wet and something broken escapes from the back of his throat and claws its way out.

This piece of paper has just confirmed something. Just one little sentence, nonchalant and so out-of-place which is ironic considering the situation that this entire night has been. How do a few words take down a doctor Shinra isn't entirely sure he wants to answer that. Instead he feels sick and bile bubbles in his stomach with the familiar clenching sensation forcing him to remember where he is and that this is happening right now.

Izaya, in turn, doesn't notice. Still sleeping soundly over the sound of a doctor dropping the facade that's especially for him and trying to compose himself.

Humans sure are funny things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd, so forgive my mistakes.


	2. To Turn a Blind Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth hurts more than blind idealizations.

_~_

 

_...When their eyes turn blind, I hope they see the damage they've caused._

   
Indications of several fractures to Izaya's arm are present after Shinra wheeled him into his examination room. He'd been hesitant earlier because of Izaya's unknown condition but as the hours slowly trickled by to five in the morning when Izaya went for his first rounds of tests. Surprisingly Shinra's still standing even though he hasn't slept at all.

On his computer screen Shinra can see the x-rays of Izaya's arm as the informant currently proceeds through an internal body scan. The first he notices are the telltale hairline fracture cracks spreading from the wrist and wonders how much pain Izaya's in as he continues on. On the ulna is an oblique fracture with prominent bone shards displaced extending into the muscle while the radius shows a reverberated effect but as a comminuted fracture. At the humerus is another oblique fracture but Shinra studies the line of breakage carefully because something doesn't seem right. Well, more in that it stands out far more than it should. Maybe it's because he's a doctor, or maybe he hasn't slept.

Pulling up the pictures to a side-by-side comparison Shinra is surprised and disturbed to find that the breaks line up in a diagonal, which confirms that Izaya must have been shielding himself when he was hit by an object. The grip on the remote to the machine tightens. Shinra knows that these types of fractures are extremely painful which make him even angrier, knowing that they're not as fresh as he thought with the bruising pattern marking the time of injury as several days ago.

And he had no idea that Izaya was in this much pain. The thought makes his skin crawl when his mind conjures the image of Izaya lying immobilized in his apartment, sitting through agonizing hours on end with no sort of pain relief. This also means that Shizuo is lying, because these bruises aren't a week old at all, or someone with the _exact_ same brute strength with a similar hatred of Izaya and is able to hit him with something large and hard enough to inflict the same amount of damage.

Yeah, right.

Shinra's thoughts turn down a darker road because of this and he doesn't know what to say or think. On one hand he's _furious_ that Izaya was left to die in his own apartment because he—the thought is too painful to say and he swears it's just because he's a doctor and a naturally caring person. They're not good friends, maybe not even acquaintances since Izaya's a troll that everyone has been hurt and used by more times than he can count on his fingers—and on the other he doesn't know what to feel about Shizuo. (Anger for lying to him or disappointment? Hell, he's surprised Shizuo didn't snap yesterday and break his apartment, or him) Shizuo is known for his rampages and having self-restraint yesterday means either Shizuo was too tired to put up a fight or maybe the doctor's words got through to him. But, he scoffs and murmurs his thoughts aloud, "If I had time to waste thinking about my feelings, I'd be unemployed."

So he busies himself with staring at the pictures taken with his beloved machine while he waits. All damage to the left arm appears to be noted and documented in order to prescribe treatment (meaning surgery) and he knows Izaya hates (invasive treatments) being bedridden. It's only for the greater good, Shinra tells himself. He doesn't know what to say when Izaya wakes up, anyway. Not likely he'll say much of anything when the both of them aren't on good terms with each other.

With the sudden traitorous thought of sedating Izaya (to keep him from injuring himself) Shinra suddenly bolts upward and simultaneously slams his fist on the desk, cursing his thoughts and blaming the lack of sleep. His mind whispers to him in persuasion that _Izaya won't know and it's better that way—_ No! He smacks his hand against his forehead with a heavy sigh; one that seems to foreshadow the day ahead. His brain still murmurs to him in the buzz of the x-ray machine. The more treacherous thoughts sink in and seep through his veins, dragging heavy sludge guilt with each pound and tremble of his heart. Izaya may be the most annoying, vicious, and cruel pain in the ass he's ever met (ever since his high school days) but Shinra isn't Izaya.

Today's going to be a long day.

Suddenly the x-ray machine beeps three times to signal that the examination is over. Automatic lights switch on to illuminate the still figure in the cot as the machine pulls away from him. Pictures begin to pop up onto Shinra's computer screen and de-pixelize into quality images. Each are clearly labeled in order of succession to the image taken before, starting with the first image of Izaya's ribs. Shinra notes the pronounced bruising he had seen on Izaya's left side shows indentation in a similar form and documents his findings with tags on each picture. On the right there doesn't appear to be much damage but he still is as thorough as he was with the left side. Lung damage doesn't show up which makes him breathe a sign of relief although he would've been informed by changes in Izaya's breathing pattern which had been stable since he was put on the ventilator.

The whir of the machine cooling off doesn't wake Izaya despite its obnoxious dull murmur as Shinra examines the images of Izaya's left leg. From the femur there is a clear comminuted fracture above the patella and Shinra's heart almost stops—again—when he sees how close the bone fragments are to the femoral artery. The swelling is impressive considering the break and Izaya's pain, Shinra muses, must have been intolerable. More like absolute agony with all the damage his body is in. The thought makes Shinra's chest clench tightly and two words, words from earlier, come slithering back and slick across the back of his tongue. His mouth waters with nausea and he steadies his forehead in the palm of his hand, carefully leaning on his elbow while continuing to document his findings.

The tibia and fibula have an interesting—painfully so—spiral fracture, which Shinra knows can and is only caused by a twisting force. But there are few machines capable of doing such, especially in Tokyo except for...

A curse under his breath makes him glance at Izaya with the shades over his eyes sticking out like a sore thumb and his stomach churns a little more. He really doesn't want to know what Shizuo has done to Izaya but the story is in the bones, quite literally, and Shinra's brain unhelpfully recreates an image of Shizuo twisting Izaya's leg before a throw, which probably caused the Gosselin fracture above the anklebone and the fracture to the femur. And if Izaya hit the edge of a wall or something with protruding effects—a window, perhaps, then that could line up with the fractures on his arm and—

"Oh my God." Shinra _almost_ winces. He just pictured the attempted murder of Izaya and he can imagine the blood and this means he should probably check the scans of his head thoroughly for brain damage. He doesn't enjoy watching people get hurt because he's a doctor and so it's only natural for him to feel disgusted—he's not his father. With Shizuo's unrestrained strength, Shinra is very much surprised or horrified or daresay, fascinated, that Izaya was able to move back to his apartment, or even move at all. Shinra knows that Shizuo would never willingly kill a person, but did that restriction apply to Izaya?

Probably not. Then again, Shizuo didn't have much of a reason to spare Izaya anyway. The troll only taunts him and constantly gives everyone misery just for his amusement and—Okay, this is getting out of hand. Shinra reminds himself that he needs to care for Izaya no matter how much he's done. No feelings, no bias. Even he doesn't deserve that.

Clicking on the images of Izaya's head confirm the worst. At the back are hairline fractures worth grimacing at and pronounced swelling of the brain. The agony is unbearable—Focus. Stop thinking about it, Shinra. Now's the time to be a doctor. Do not get emotional now. Okay, calm down. Deep breaths; inhale, exhale. Do not swear, do not even think of Shizuo or Izaya. Just the injuries.

A loud noise interrupts Shinra's monologue that sounds like a gunshot—bang! Instantly he starts from his chair and swivels around to the door, reaching for his phone only to meet with empty space in his pocket when he recollects that he left his phone in the... Uh oh.

Celty knocks at the door and suddenly bursts in, PDA in hand with a pre-typed message and her shoulders shake in what Shinra is ninety percent sure is horror. In the other hand is Shinra's missing phone with a particularly gruesome picture of Izaya taken yesterday evening lighting up the screen.

[What happened to him? I didn't know it was this bad!]

Shinra tries to play it cool and hopes she isn't too angry with him. "I-uh, I thought you had already seen the extent of his injuries."

Celty retracts her PDA and types again, furiously. [I barely saw. I had blankets in my face, remember? And then you told me to leave.]

Oh, well, that explains the noise. "Sorry about that. The pictures were necessary for a friend I've asked to help treat him. Didn't mean to scare you, Celty." he gives a light smile and the tenseness in Celty's shoulders drops, but he can tell she's still upset.

[Okay.] she types, [I didn't know it was this bad. And that noise was my laptop.]

"Sorry," Shinra places a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiles. "I just didn't think you would, you know, care all that much. You don't like him at all and I couldn't really blame you for that."

Celty stills for a moment, but Shinra knows she's thinking. Then she types. [You're right. He's frustratingly annoying and completely heartless. It's just...I know he's still a human despite whatever he wants to call himself. He does horrible things to innocent people but I have a feeling.]

Celty pauses again before she taps on her PDA. [Call me crazy, but what if, he's just...too human? Like he doesn't want to be hurt by others, so he acts like he does. He could be so frustrated by his own humanity and then try to prove to others—especially Shizuo—that he's not a human but some sort of god. What kind of person would do that, other than one who's insecure?]

Shinra doesn't know what to say. The hypothesis is outlandish and just sounds inane but perhaps there is a tangibility of it that he doesn't quite understand. He knows Celty is more perceptive than he is when it comes to others, so he knows she'd have more appeal to seeing what others don't in terms of people so maybe she is right. Pertaining to Izaya, however, it's hard for him to fully conceive the concept of Celty's theory. Instead of trying to piece together her thoughts, Shinra finds himself asking for elaboration, instead.

[Oh, good. So you don't think I'm totally crazy.] Shinra smiles at this and he sees Celty blushing before she shakes her head and gets to the task at hand. [Look, I know it's probably hard for you to understand, so I'll try and make sense. You, I'm guessing, are helping him because it's a sense of right and wrong, right?] Shinra nods an affirmative, and she continues excitedly at her correct intuition.

[But you see, I don't see it entirely like that. To me, I try to see the good in everyone, no matter who or what they are, or even what they've done. Of course I'm angry because he's hurt so many people, but in this case, I see helping Izaya not just because it's the right thing to do. I'm not sure what makes Izaya who he is and I know you're still angry at him for what he's done and I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm saying that it's okay to be angry at him, but you need to see him past his actions in order to understand him. What he's done has been painful for all of us. I'm still angry at his behavior though. But think about it, what person in their right mind would commit the crimes he's done?]

"I'm not entirely sure where you're going with this, Celty," Shinra's mind boggles, "but I think I can try to see what you're talking about." Celty nods in understanding and he smiles again because only she can do that to him. He loves how incredible Celty is and how she can even make him question his own mind.

[Alright. You don't act like your father, right?] Shinra gasps in fake surprise with an accusation that she doesn't trust him and Celty giggles. [You're a well-rounded person when in comparison to him. You've had a normal life without much influence from him, so you don't act like him. But in terms of Izaya, you don't know what kind of life he's had. You've told me yourself that you've never really known about him because he never talks about himself directly. So why then would he act directly in accordance to how he feels or what he needs? What if he's so cruel because he doesn't know how to act around other people and makes up for it by driving others away? It makes sense to me because somehow, that side of Izaya may not be the only one there is to him.]

"Celty, I'm losing you. Let me think it over, but I'll definitely consider it. It's not that I don't agree with you, it's just..." Shinra's mind still swims in confusion with Celty's feelings and his own opinions. Of course he doesn't understand how Celty could make the connections she has and it's kind of frustrating he doesn't get it yet.

[No, no. I understand. It's a lot to think about and we're not the same so I don't expect you to see it my way. Besides, it's confusing to me too but somehow, it just makes _sense._ Just a theory, that's all.] She smiles, gently. [I'm not saying you have to understand me, Shinra, I just ask that you save him. No matter what he's done.]

"Of course, Celty. Anything for you." That's not quite what Celty meant but she knows he's teasing by the glint in his eye right before he pulls her into a hug.

When they pull apart, Celty glances into the examination room with the unspoken question Shinra knows. "Finishing up scans. I've got the imaging on my computer but I don't think you want to see."

She nods solemnly. [I need some time to think over what I've just said and...a breather, what you call it. Maybe not now, but... I just hope he's okay.] Shinra's heart tightens painfully when he hears the sadness in her voice. Celty's a compassionate person and he knows this situation upsets her more than he knows or understands. But the entire reason of _why_ eludes him. He sees this as doing the right thing. It makes him angry that Izaya was suffering when Celty found him and currently is in a horrible state, but with Celty's talk of why Izaya behaves as he does he doesn't quite comprehend. Environmental factors and influences can shape a human's behaviors, he knows, and having shunned human relationships Shinra isn't entirely formed on human behavior and mentality.

"Go get some rest, Celty. It's early, anyway." Shinra shoos her playfully and she jabs him in the ribs with the same fashion. "Ow!" She walks away, but right as she reaches the door Shinra calls to her.

"And Celty," Shinra's voice is unusually quiet. "Don't worry about anything. It's going to be okay. Trust me."

She turns and a message flashes briefly in his face. [I do.] The door clicks shut after she exits and Shinra is left with his phone on the desk where Celty must have placed it earlier with the screen still illuminating a haunting picture. He takes another glance at Izaya who is lying on his back unaware of the world around him. It's time to retrieve him after the machines have already shut down and the images are on his computer.

He saves his work, shutting down his laptop and entering the examination room hoping somehow he can get some sleep before the sun rises. Izaya hasn't moved at all save for the rise and fall of his chest supplied by the ventilator as he still hasn't managed to breathe on his own. Removing the lead apron Shinra wheels Izaya out and grabs the blankets at the door with the IV drip pole rolling at his feet, tucking them in and over the informant.

Carefully he feels around Izaya's head and lifts it gently to prod at the back where the hairline fractures are located. As suspected there is swelling in the general area of the blow but the skin has managed to form a delicate scab which he should probably cover with bandages. The blow isn't deep enough to warrant stitches at least, so he can keep the swelling under control with medications and careful monitoring and complete the multiples surgeries Izaya needs.

Back in the guest room Izaya is reconnected to the bedside monitor and Shinra glances at the time. The clock says six thirty and he assumes the sun's already up because the room has started getting the first glimmers of light.

He doesn't feel up to anything the day has to offer except the surgeries. Doesn't want to talk to Shizuo, doesn't want to even think about Izaya's reaction. But he needs to get through this, he knows, and Celty's words still cloud his brain.

Alright. Considering Izaya is in no immediate danger he'll postpone the first surgery to eight. It should take at least thirty minutes and the second one as well, so in total an hour. Administer pain medications afterward and wrap the injured bones in a cast. He knows Izaya won't be able to walk for weeks, if not a couple months. But first he needs to get some sleep considering how much his eyes burn from the lack of it.

Walking out the room he doesn't spare a glance at Izaya's prone form. Doesn't try to think about the day ahead. Just wants to sleep. But there's a scrap of paper in his pocket that weighs him down with each and every step he takes and one thing's on his mind.

He can't let Celty know. Not now. And it'll probably make her upset to keep it from her, but he decided already it is for the best.

_~_

Shizuo can't sleep. Hours ticked by: not a wink. He swears to himself up and down that he's just stressed. Hasn't been able to release some anger, that's all. Dealing with idiots at work and then trying to get some sleep once in a while happens to do that to anyone. And here he is, two in the morning restlessly turning on his bed and an empty pack of cigarettes he's just bought yesterday and yet another destroyed coffee table. Damn it.

He is _not_ worried. Not for anything or anyone. In fact, he is angry. Okay, that's definitely true. He's angry because who wouldn't be, being asked to behave himself and help the flea? What does he owe that louse, anyway? Shinra's out of his damn mind, Shizuo declares mentally, because that's the only plausible explanation he can come up with when his mind's buzzing and he's exhausted from the lack of sleep. However there's this pull his brain has that's almost pleading to analyze it, question what's just happened and prove something and state facts. There should be facts, logic. Something to make sense because emotion isn't enough to prove anything. But, he thinks that emotion is the main reason for the situation his brain keeps pondering.

He shouldn't have to do anything for that flea. Nothing. Shinra knows—Hell, even Shinra doesn't like Izaya—that they don't, won't, and will never get along. Why Shinra even stood up to him, the beast of Ikebukuro, is a mystery concerning that he did it just for Izaya. And that bothers him. It makes him confused (he knows Shinra can be caring for anything or anyone for the sake of doing the right thing) but he doesn't know fully of Shinra's relationship with Izaya. He doesn't need the specifics, just the generalization. Figure out why Shinra would even bother him in the first place.

No. He shouldn't be bothering himself about this. Who cares what Shinra's reasons are? He should be focusing on telling him he doesn't want anything to do with the flea without resorting to his temper just from the thought of Izaya. Ugh, that bastard. A sour taste fouls his tongue at the mention of Izaya and he scrunches his face and eventually rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm.

So maybe he didn't tell Shinra the entire truth. Well, he didn't ask for it anyway, so why should he clarify when Shinra didn't? Yeah he fought with the flea last week. Shinra asked him about last week. And earlier in the week he doesn't remember much. It's just the flea's fault. For making him lose control, for making him do things he hates and then taunting him and calling him a beast.

Why is he even bothering. He hasn't gotten any closer to sleep. Instead he's more restless and frustrated and there's no point anymore. He just wants to sleep: is it too much to ask for? But his brain doesn't listen (it never has) and he can only groan and wait for morning.

He doesn't want to do this. He can't. It's illogical, not something he can understand or concern himself with. Izaya isn't his problem except for when the flea taunts him. Suddenly, looking forward to morning isn't as appealing as he fleetingly believed.

The shadows are growing high on the walls. And for once, everything outside his head is silent. But the storms rages within his head and somehow he knows he won't be able to sleep until he can sort this out.

_~_

Eight comes around far too soon with the irritating ring of Shinra's phone alarm. Somehow he managed to grab an hour and a half of sleep but the notion of waking up doesn't manage to keep the sleep out of his eyes. Glasses on he changes into his regular doctor's outfit and prepares himself for the day ahead. Right now he just focuses on the procedures of bone shard removal and pushes the later confrontation with Shizuo to the back of his mind. Besides, there is no clear notion that Shizuo would even bother showing up. Maybe he should ask Celty to talk to him first.

"Celty, my dear, are you there?" Stepping out of his room he swiveled his head around to look for his beloved. A text pops up on his phone and he heard the shower running shortly after.

[Taking a shower. What do you need?] He tries not to imagine his Celty freed from the confines of her catsuit, standing in the steaming mist and with a finger curled, beckoning him to come and join her—

[Don't even think about it.] Oh Celty, she who can read his mind. Instead of embarrassment he grins to himself and wipes his mouth, recounting how much he adores his beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Celty.

[ _I need you to talk to Shizuo, if you're up to it. I'm not sure if he's going to come here, and honestly I don't blame him if he doesn't, but I'd like to know what's going on in his head. And since I'm not so great at that, I was hoping maybe you could help me out, my dearest Celty?_ ] Shinra texts back as he heads to the guest room to start the anesthesia prior to surgery.

His phone beeps a moment later. [Okay, got it. I'll see how he's doing. Hopefully he's not too angry with how you talked to him yesterday.] Well, Shinra scratches the back of his head sheepishly, it is one of his finer moments of bravado, especially because of Izaya's condition at the time.

He knocks once on the guest room door and doesn't hear any reply so he steps in and isn't surprised to find Izaya sleeping. Partially relieved he doesn't have to face Izaya yet he retrieves the anesthetic from one of his passcode-secured cupboard and decides on the amount of liquid since he doesn't have the luxury of owning an anesthetic machine so he goes for the older approach of IV administration.

"Sorry about this, but it's got to be done." Shinra murmurs to the sleeping informant when the IV bag is removed and begins the first series of injections. Carefully he watches the bedside monitor, waiting to confirm the effect of the drugs working in order to begin.

Slowly the heart rate drops and Shinra switches the nasal cannula to an oxygen mask as he keeps an eye on the level of oxygen saturation, blood pressure, and any other concerning manners. Izaya falls deeper into the medically-induced sleep and gives Shinra the initiative to start the second injection that ensures prolonged effect of the anesthetic. And keep Izaya numb and unconscious.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Shinra's hands never shake when he reaches for the scalpel.

_~_

Freshly emerged from her shower Celty picks up her PDA and scrolls through her list of contacts to Shizuo's name and types a message.

[How are you doing, Shizuo?] She starts simple: testing the waters. Minutes pass and she wonders briefly what Shinra's doing since he's not out eating breakfast on the couch. Settling on the couch she turns on the TV and tries not to let her mind wander to many different topics.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: Fine. What's up?]

[I was wondering if you're doing alright.] She decides not to mention Shinra's involvement until she's sure it's alright but with Shizuo she never really knew.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: Haven't slept. What's going on now?] Celty sighs to herself and hopes she doesn't incur Shizuo's wrath by accident.

[Sorry about that. Anyway, I was wondering, well actually, Shinra and I were wondering if you're up to coming here today. I know Shinra wanted you to come over but I think it was just his anger talking. He's not sure how Izaya was hurt and probably thinks you've caused some of it and wanted you to face the reality of what's happened. I know you don't care for Izaya, but please consider it. I'll keep Shinra in line as much as I can, but the choice is yours.]

Her phone is silent for several minutes. After ten minutes she checks her phone and finds nothing while the documentary of extraterrestrials plays on the television. She shudders when the conspiracy theorist comes on and explains the _countless possibilities_ of alien life on the planet and the fact they could be your neighbors, your friends, your loved ones—

When her phone buzzes she nearly screams and the device slips out of her hand and falls to the floor before she can compose herself to read the message and turn down the volume of the documentary.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: I don't know. Shinra's an idiot, but that's expected. I have the day off.] That's it! There's her chance to talk things through. She sighs in relief with the knowledge that he doesn't sound too mad, and decides to take a chance.

[Why don't we talk for a bit? Shinra's off doing something and I've got all day today.] Thoroughly creeped out by the documentary she shuts the television off and prefers to focus on her phone, calming her thoughts filled with aliens. Ugh.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: Sure. Russia Sushi?]

Celty nods to herself and retrieves her helmet after getting up from the couch. [I'll meet you there.] She glances back in the general area of Shinra's room down the hall from the guest room moments before she heads to the door.

[I'm going out to talk with Shizuo. Whatever you're doing, make sure you eat breakfast.]

_~_

"So what's going on, Celty?" Shizuo greets from outside Russia Sushi in his same bartender outfit and blue sunglasses. Celty nods at him, typing on her PDA.

[Nothing much. I don't know what Shinra's been doing, or how Izaya is.] Simon's voice cuts into their conversation with a cheerful greeting and an advertisement sign in hand.

"Ah, Shizuo, Celty! Good to see you. Come for sushi? Sushi good for mornings!" Simon glances between the two, considering something. "Shizuo is alright? You no look happy today."

Shizuo dismisses the concern with a shake of his head. "Fine, Simon. Let's go inside, Celty." Simon frowns when the two go inside as he ponders the look he deciphered on Shizuo's almost unreadable face, but somehow he knows more than Shizuo lets on. For now he decides to let it go as Shizuo isn't willing to speak yet. Sushi will help, he knows.

Shizuo is strangely quiet when they sit down and he has his order taken. Celty considers trying to start a conversation but the words die when she tries to start a coherent sentence. The conversation isn't an easy one for many reasons and neither of them know where to start. Shizuo looks more disturbed, almost angry when he recalls the night before. But they can't tiptoe around the subject long because it's the reason they're sitting in Russia Sushi at nine in the morning.

[What's on your mind, Shizuo?] she starts almost tentatively. When he reads her PDA she watches as his frown dips into a scowl before he shakes his head.

"I don't know. To be honest, everything is." Shizuo replies and his eyes are on the table and not on Celty. "This entire situation, reactions, I hate it." His fist tightens and Celty is very much aware of the action.

She types after thinking for several moments. [What bothers you? Is it because of Izaya?] the mention of the informant makes Shizuo's lips curl into a snarl while his fists tighten and dig into his palms.

"That's mainly it. To be involved with that flea is more than enough to make me want to break something." Shizuo sighs but his teeth still grind together. "I don't know how or what to explain. I want to kill the flea but when he's lying helpless because he..." he trails off, eyes darting to the chef preparing his sushi.

Celty knows the topic is more than difficult to discuss. She's surprised he's controlled his anger this far but has a theory that there's a reason why he's not responding in anger. But she doesn't voice it, and certainly not to Shizuo. Not now, at least.

[I know. I don't know everything that's affecting him, but I know he's hurt. Shinra is right, however. He needs not just a doctor to help him.]

His eyes dart to her helmet. "What do you mean? I get that he went on last night about how the flea isn't physically sick. I don't know much though."

[Shizuo, Shinra thinks that Izaya's sick, mentally. He's so thin that he's completely skin and bones. Neither of us know the full story and that's why we ask for your cooperation. There are injuries from excessive force which Shinra thinks you've caused. I'm not saying you did, but please, tell me what you know.]

The distraction of Shizuo's sushi being set on the table with a greeting from the chef cuts the conversation momentarily and Celty takes the chance to type something on her PDA which she shows to the chef. He reads it carefully and then looks back to her, nodding with a knowing smile Shizuo doesn't catch and heads back to the kitchen. At first Shizuo picks at the seafood with his chopsticks uninterestedly and his eyes rest on the table, thinking quietly to himself.

"I saw him last Tuesday." Shizuo begins after several tentative bites. "That was the last time I saw him. He taunted me and then we fought like usual." Fingers clenching and knuckles turning white. "After a week I'd thought he got the message and stayed in Shinjuku because he kept pissing me off last week." he growls and pops more sushi into his mouth, chewing.

[Shinra said the injuries were a couple days old, which could have been on Tuesday this week when he got them. But if you didn't cause them, then I wonder who did. Did you manage to hurt him last time?] The last question isn't pleasant to ask, but she needs to know.

"No," Shizuo shakes his head, "the flea ran off before I could hit him with anything I had, that rat. He told me he was busy and then ran back to Shinjuku. Something about better company and that's all he said to me." Another sushi roll disappeared in his mouth while the amount of chatter between the restaurant's patrons as more continued to come in with the coming of the day.

[Hmm. That's something. But I believe you, Shizuo. I'll talk to Shinra later and let him know. He also said that Izaya would be waking up today.] The sushi chef came back with a white box in hand, setting it down on the table in front of Celty.

"This is on the house. Tell him to get better." he says and heads back to the kitchen after Celty nods in acknowledgment. Shizuo raises an eyebrow but doesn't ask.

Silence hangs between the two as Shizuo finishes his breakfast. Celty keeps her attention on the box in front of her and tries to keep other patrons from noticing her by shifting toward the window.

Shizuo clears his throat. "So I'm guessing you want me to see him today." he states, quietly. Celty notices his eyes are at the window to their left but he isn't focused on anything. She wonders what Shizuo's thinking but his unreadable expression that he usually wears keeps her from making any clear assumptions. The thoughts in Celty's head are disjointed at best as she puts her information together and several options remain in her head as to what he's thinking. Something, call it intuition, tells her it's confusion.

[You don't have to. I'm not going to force you to do anything. But Shinra and I think it's a good idea to settle this now. There are reasons you hate him, I know, but it's time to put that aside and focus on what's happening now. The pain he's in is unbearable and the feud you have with him won't help him recover any bit. I know it's a lot to ask, but please consider it.] Celty looks for the bill but when she glances at Simon who has returned inside he waves her concerns away with a gentle smile. Shizuo is beside himself and silent though his fists are digging into his flesh as his anger flares and for a moment Celty thinks she sees something _more_ in his eyes until it quickly flickers away.

Her phone buzzes sharply, interrupting the silence. She picks it up while Shizuo doesn't face her and quickly scans the message.

[ _Izaya is out of surgery. He had bone fragments from the breaks in his arm and leg that had to be removed, but right now he's doing much better. Right now he's stable with a low fever, I'm guessing, but he's probably going to wake up soon. How are things going with Shizuo?_ ] Oh Shinra, always at the most inconvenient times. Celty shakes her head lightly and then glances back to Shizuo as she decides on her next words.

[Izaya is going to be waking up soon. I'm not asking you to come see him now, but we should go if you want to see him. He's just out of surgery, so he won't be his usual ornery self.] Celty stands from the booth and shows Shizuo the PDA while she grabs the box and tucks it under her arm.

Shizuo is oddly quiet. He looks at her words and then to the box in her arms several times before he sighs and groans to himself. Celty is about to leave, deciding that Shizuo doesn't want to see Izaya going by the shake of his head but as she reaches the door (ignoring the many comments from patrons that have just seen _the_ Black Rider) when suddenly Shizuo calls out.

"I'm coming." She barely has time to turn to him before he reaches her and they head out and Simon stops Celty when she is at the door.

"Here," he thrusts a paper bag and motions to the box under her arm, "take care of him, okay? Make sure he eat lots of sushi." Celty nods, and the two quickly depart while the chatter inside Russia Sushi grows with talk of the fortissimo of Ikebukuro and the headless rider.

Helmet materializing around Shizuo's head he speaks as Celty cuts into traffic. "Don't expect me to be all nice to the flea. I don't owe him anything and he's annoying enough just thinking about him."

For once Celty is thankful she doesn't have a head because if she did, she would have been caught smiling.

_~_

Finally, Shinra sighs to himself. Both surgeries have gone well and with some minor infection from Izaya's head wound, everything is pulling together nicely. And just because he was in such a good mood he even washed Izaya's hair (blood and grime smell awful, by the way) and patched him up as best he could. As much as Izaya pestered him and his beloved Celty—really didn't want to think about that—he figured that Izaya could pay him back later for his wonderfully considerate hospitality. But alas, all in a doctor's work.

Shinra considers himself to be almost too kind as he's already patched up Izaya and lent him some spare clothes (which hang like drapes even though they shrunk in the wash) and prescribes him pain medication among the list of his new medications he'll have to take.

Right now Izaya's sleeping off the rest of the anesthetic that Shinra doesn't have to give a counter drug to, with all those medications Izaya's had pumped in his system it's not a risk he especially wants to take. His heart rate and other vitals are steadily climbing. A small part of him still bothers him with how ill Izaya's pale skin and starving figure stand out heavily even underneath several thick blankets. And if he dares to think any more into it his stomach churns and the two words that have been lodged uncomfortably in his throat make him nauseous. He really can't help the feeling when he knows it's not from a physical condition but it's still hard to process.

There is so much on his mind. He doesn't know where to begin in all honesty and it's been a while since he's felt this helpless—besides the time that Shizuo came in with a bullet in his brain and he was still insulting him nonetheless—but the kind is completely of its own. He's torn, really, between talking to Izaya which probably will get him nowhere, and just asking his friend for advice. He really shouldn't be so dependent but this area of expertise is entirely foreign to him and he questions what is means to be not just a doctor, but the doctor who has to save a childhood friend from killing _himself._

The thought sticks on his tongue like acetone-soaked cotton. It burns as it trickles down his esophagus and pools into his churning stomach and he reasons that maybe it's best not to eat right now or until after something, anything has been sorted out. Besides the fact the topic is completely considered taboo in modern society here he is trying to sort his own thoughts from the thoughts a physician has. And he has to admit; it's harder than it sounds. What he can do is imagine the pain—not just physical—Izaya is in, but even that's next to impossible because it's so frustrating too but he just _doesn't know._ And it frustrates him so much that he wants to help yet he doesn't know how.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, interrupting him from his silent reverie consisting of staring at the bedside monitor while consumed by this thoughts. The message is from his dearest Celty, which brightens his moods considerably.

[We're coming. Are you alright?] Oh, his dearest Celty worries for him! He smiles gleefully at such a heartfelt message so complex in its simplicity and he knows with Celty's love nothing can stop him. His heart flutters (of course, why wouldn't it when it's Celty) and he taps a reply.

[ _Oh Celty, my dear, you give me the strength of a thousand men to continue on with this harsh reality._ _And_ _Shizuo's coming with? I honestly didn't expect that. But I hope you'll help me if things get a bit crazy around here.]_ Originally his phone was in his left pocket, but without thinking anything of it he drops it into his right. (Why should that bother him?)

The happiness quickly turns dour when Shinra remembers something. Remembers the broken bones and the strength that it takes to cause them. Shizuo _said_ that he hadn't seen Izaya since last week. But with all the evidence that piles up against him, it's going to take more than just that to convince Shinra otherwise. Something doesn't seem right. And his judgment tells him that Shizuo's story needs to be run by him again when he recalls that Izaya was brutally beaten and left in his apartment to die for an unknown amount of time. It shouldn't trouble him this much when he thinks about it but it does despite the fact he's not very close to Izaya but he worries like a friend should. He really does, but he'd never admit it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he glances at the bedside monitor and realizes that Izaya's vitals are giving telltale signs that he's going to be waking up soon and he wastes no time in switching out the oxygen mask to the nasal cannula when he deems it safe Izaya can handle it and doesn't try to let the building stress of what's to come faze him too much.

Phone buzzing in against his leg Shinra smiles to himself with the promise of Celty's reply he'll always look forward to but then something rough brushes against his fingers and he freezes. Feels his heart drop into his stomach and disintegrate as the acid churns painfully so in the confines of his stomach lining.

He must have forgotten, he tells himself without a sound and it feels like the whole room has dropped ten degrees. Doesn't look at Izaya. He can't. Couldn't. Must have forgotten, then, to change his pants. S-Somehow, he thinks. Two words, scratching his throat. Fingers trembling and one hand pushes up his glasses. Why is this so difficult. He's a doctor, it's what he does. It's happened before, so why is this so different from the rest? Why is he acting like this now? When he blinks the images from the x-ray machine saved on his computer reminds him with the least amount of subtlety and more so stabbing headache-worthy jolts that there really isn't much he can pretend to not be affected by.

But, he tries to reassure himself, maybe it's just a grocery list or something like that for Celty he forgot to give her this morning. Knowing his absentmindedness it isn't _that_ impossible, more probable than he realizes. Yeah, it's probably just that. Not something horrible, right? So there should be no reason to hesitate when he pulls his phone and the paper from his pocket. Unfortunately Celty's message is forgotten by a simple disruptive event. He'll have to apologize later because he's grasping the offending object in his fingers and please don't be what he thinks it is.

Oh.

He swallows the nausea that clings to the back of his throat. There are words written glaring him in the face. They are what he doesn't want them to be, right there on the scrap clenched in his slowly tightening grasp between his index finger and thumb.

Maybe he should have rethought that a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter, but updates are on Wednesday every other week due to busy work schedule and multiple jobs. Early update today because I forgot to mention my update schedule, so this serves as an apology for those who are interested in this.
> 
> Also, I'm not too partial to changes in setting so often, but hopefully it'll be this chapter only, seeing it isn't quite as dramatic as the first. Forgive me if you will. And for recently joining the DRRR! fandom, I would call this fic my introduction. Thank you for reading this far.


	3. In Clarity to Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't always as they seem.

_~_

 

_...To judge with clarity is to brush with death._

  
The entire way there the mantra Shizuo keeps murmuring is the usual: _kill kill kill kill kill kill kill_. It's definitely enough to make Celty turn her head back more than once and he thinks her shoulders are shaking but it's hard to tell when he's focusing on his own anger. Coiling tight and thick like steel wool ropes in his gut. Shizuo hates the feeling but it's like he can't stop. The urge is too addictive and too much to control. He hates the flea with a passion so why did he choose this in the first place he has no idea. Celty's probably beginning to question it too.

[Are you okay? Are you sure you want to do this?] Celty's PDA suddenly meets his eyes with one hand twisted back to him while the other tightly grips a handlebar of the motorcycle. She weaves through cars in the race back to Shinra's house and doesn't stand the heavy traffic and the more often blaring horns coming from irate drivers.

On the back of Celty's bike Shizuo's mind is in chaos. Parts of him are screaming _kill kill kill kill kill kill kill_ and demanding—how could you do this _for_ that flea—why is he even going to see him they're supposed to hate each other and Shizuo swears up and down he does so why is his mind splitting itself in two he's not sure. But he's angry and frustrated and tense, in which Celty can feel the anger radiating off of him in violent tsunami waves. She wonders if this is a good idea because Shizuo just radiates danger and she doesn't want him to hurt himself or anyone else—

"Hey, wait." Like it never existed the anger rolling off of Shizuo seems to fall at a halt and dissipate like an untied balloon even though he shouts over the sound of the busy streets. "Doesn't the flea have that secretary? Why would he be festering in his apartment if she's working for him?"

Surprised, Celty takes a moment to pass yet another car and then type on her PDA. [You didn't know? She left for Europe with her brother and that Raira girl two months ago. He mentioned something about her quitting and leaving Japan permanently the last time we spoke.] While Shizuo reads it, Celty has consciously withholds [two weeks ago] because her own guilt still clawed at her when she remembers the brief conversation she shared with the informant two weeks prior. He acted no different than usual, she remembers, with his oversized coat and baggy clothing, she never would have guessed what was hiding underneath. The thought makes her stomach squeeze and churn but she keeps her cool: Izaya needs not just one-sided sympathy, but empathy.

The anger hasn't come back nearly as strong when the conversation falls null between them (Shizuo is still murmuring to himself with a bite but it isn't his usual mantra when he was angry—today's just full of surprises) and Celty's tempted to ask again if this is what Shizuo really wants. She doesn't want to risk her and Shinra's apartment under Shizuo's untamed wrath (she really could handle it though, if need be) although the more emotional effects would be something she couldn't control as well. And with Izaya waking up, she should be more clear. Maybe not as sharp as last night where she'd been in just too much shock and tired (so had Shinra and Shizuo, she reprimands herself). She also realizes she not the only one who's going into this head first without even a clue of what to do.

Fingers twitching for a cigarette Shizuo palms the new carton he bought this morning in his jeans pocket, knowing full well that it's not exactly easy to smoke on a speeding motorcycle so he settles for plucking one and holding it between two fingers. The motion is calming and the placebo effect makes him sigh. Even though the stress still rots in his head and his blood is on fire. He hates thinking about what he's doing and what he's just gotten himself in to.

Celty interrupts him in his silent mental war with her PDA in his face. [Are you sure you want this?]

He blinks, and scowls unbeknownst to Celty. "I'm fine. Why ask me now?"

Seemingly hesitant, Celty waits until she turns down the street to her apartment before she taps her reply. [Because he's awake. There's no going back from this, understand?]

Her words are more intimidating than the look she gives him when she turns her head to him and waits for a confirmation when they reach the apartment. Stopped just outside, it feels like the world's stopped moving. There are words Shizuo finds himself wanting to say but he ignores them in favor of answering Celty with a single nod.

She nods back to him in confirmation and they dismount her motorcycle. Shizuo can't help the accidentally intentional glance at the box of sushi Celty grabs and the automatic confirmation that it's Izaya's favorite fatty tuna. So he retaliates by mumbling a few choice curses toward Izaya for everything up to his malfunctioning brain all his fault.

_~_

Shinra honestly doesn't know why he even tries to delude himself. The truth lies clearly in his fingers and trembles with the similar motion of his hand. It's entirely unpleasant; the feeling that coils and thrums in his stomach and he feels ill enough to vomit but he realizes wryly that wouldn't help at all. The truth isn't what he wants to bear when he's insecure from the lack of knowledge to help. Like speaking at a press conference when he doesn't even know what the conversation is. In a foreign language, no less. He really shouldn't be having this conversation with himself now, of all times possible. Get a hold of yourself, Shinra.

From the cot Izaya's breaths are deeper and longer, disrupting the pattern of sleep. Shinra thinks he hears a sigh before he turns to make sure that he's not just hearing things. Then he watches as Izaya's face contorts into a frown, somewhat composed of pain and his nose crinkling. Beside the two Izaya's heart rate has risen dramatically and Shinra is nearly swept away by a wave of relief crashing into him. The two words, earlier biting his tongue and plaguing him are suddenly pushed down and crammed into his stomach where they rest bitterly and Shinra feels like he's finally letting the breath go which feels like he's been holding since last night.

"Hey, Izaya? Are you awake? Can you hear me?" Shinra immediately asks as Izaya's face softens again and his muscles relax. Despite the fact it looks as if Izaya's fallen asleep again the heart monitor chirps that Izaya is in fact conscious. Shinra taps Izaya's right arm gingerly with two fingers and his eyes flicker to the face that slowly contorts into unreadable expressions. So far with no response Shinra takes Izaya's bone-thin arm and slides his fingers to the lighter underside underneath the long sleeve of his loaned shirt. All with the intention to check his pulse despite the reading on the bedside monitor. Just to make sure of himself, he argues in the uncomfortable silence of the room.

Shirna does not expect to feel raised lines on the soft flesh beneath his fingers. Not quite registering in his mind (please this can't be happening no he can't deal with any more than the note sitting pretty in his pocket) he freezes and shuts down every other thought that's racing through his mind a thousand miles an hour and forces himself to breathe. His control over his thoughts has progressively been weakened by little sleep and the paper curled up and tucked in to the seam of his pants pocket. Really doesn't want to do this because he's not sure he wants to know any more. It's the guilt that makes his mind ache most of the time while the rest of him fights and twists into angry knots as disappointment ropes itself in his veins like a string of pearls.

He _should_ have known. He _should_ have done something. He should have said _something_ when Izaya hasn't come around in months. One bitter question rests on his tongue however and those two words are back, angrier than ever and stinging like the bite of a hornet that just doesn't stop.

Inhale, exhale. Observe the situation and process. Detach emotionally and face with rationality. He doesn't know what he's going to see and reminds himself that this is _normal_ in cases like this which he only knows from his limited knowledge. It may not be what he thinks it is. Odds are it is.

Cautious fingers trace a raised line of skin directly above a vein. The pattern is clear and straight, slanting in a diagonal line toward the radius. Another line is above the line Shinra's fingers catch and they make note of the change in skin texture as the pattern repeats, curving upward in a straight, concise path. His fingers can count four more on the one stretch of skin they cover if he presses to feel the soft pulse of blood moving through Izaya's veins.

The decision is made and clear-cut. With the care and gentleness he's usually uncomfortable showing around others, Shinra turns Izaya's arm over and cradles one hand in his and his other still lingers on the raised skin. At the moment Shinra sees the skin, his heart sinks lower into his stomach as if it hasn't already been burned and devoured. He swallows and removes the probing fingers to push his glasses back up on his forehead and takes a moment to allow an undistinguished smile quietly portray his thoughts.

Down Izaya's forearm are dozens, if not hundreds of raised marks all in the similar form of a line. Clear, clean, and ranging from shallow to deep and old to fresh and hard to see in any light unless if looking for them because of how pale they are. From what he can tell the newest ones are several days old and the oldest, the pale white ones that stand out from the pinkish lines that mostly cover his arm. He isn't too sure how long they've been on his skin, but he gets the feeling they've been reopened over the time that they've made residence on his skin. No wonder he didn't notice when he changed Izaya into his clothes.

"...Hey, Shinra." Crimson eyes peer at him under heavy lids and Shinra snaps his gaze to Izaya at the sound of his rasping voice. The other swallows with his brows furrowing at the sudden difficulty of his muscles not cooperating until he finally clears his throat and gives a sad upturn of the corners of his mouth. What Shinra sees in his eyes is something hidden because he remembers when Izaya had a secret back in high school by the way his eyes glimmered. This time feels different though. He can't quite put his finger on it.

"Hey there." Shinra greets quietly and scans Izaya's face for any signs of pain. So far it appears Izaya's still under the influence of his painkillers and other prescriptions, so he doesn't worry too much for now. But he can't tear his eyes away from the marred flesh that makes him reconsider _why_ for all the chances he's had. "How are you feeling, Izaya-kun?"

Izaya blinks, registering the question in his drug-addled mind and his eyes refocus on Shinra's. "'m fine. Jus' Izaya, though." his request is odd and Shinra nods in understanding. Now's not the time to ask about petty things when there's a much larger matter at hand. "...Where am I?" he rasps softly and Shinra remarks that this is the first time he's ever heard Izaya like this through the initial dry throat down to the vulnerability in Izaya's voice. He also guesses Izaya doesn't enjoy it either.

"You're at my apartment." Shinra's eyes flicker back to Izaya's arm and he can't stop the heavy exhale that escapes him. It's not disappointment toward Izaya but the other probably doesn't know what the reason is for, anyway. "Celty found you last night. Do you remember anything?" The question is a hard first one to ask but it's surprisingly better than what he thinks he would have blurted out in haste. Already he tastes bitter feelings that have been suppressed for so long beginning to surface. He hates Izaya. Hates him, but shouldn't. What is he doing—bringing up hurt feelings when he gets the chance? Celty would probably have his head if she ever caught glimpse of Shinra's venomous thoughts.

Izaya's eyes follow his gaze to the arm that Shinra still holds and an unnamed expression crosses his features. Shinra barely picks up on it because of the lack of facial movement, but he knows guilt when he sees it (being a guilty party himself) and is nonetheless confused as to why Izaya would be.

"I...I don't know." Izaya's hooded eyes remain on his arm and he swallows with difficulty. Recognition sparks but is quickly muted and he instead focuses on the IV inserted in his right hand and that's probably due to the rush Shinra was in the night before that he didn't notice the scars running down Izaya's arm. Shinra studies him some more and believes that there's more Izaya wants to say but he's holding himself back and the doctor knows social cues well enough that he shouldn't ask. But it still tugs at his heartstrings roughly when Izaya pretends he doesn't notice Shinra staring at his scarred forearm.

Start from the beginning, then, Shinra believes is best. "Last night Celty was contacted to go find you because you've been missing for several days. I don't know who asked, but she left before I could get an answer. When she found you..." he swallows past the lump in his throat and gently traces a particularly long scar that twists into the crook of Izaya's elbow. "You were unconscious and bleeding out. Your left leg and arm were broken severely and you had sustained a nasty blow to the back of your head which induced a strong concussion. But that's not the only thing I noticed when she got you here."

Izaya lazily looks up at him with muted expression and silently prompts him to continue. "You...had taken high amounts of morphine, enough to be very lethal. In short, you were a mess. And at first, I could understand why you had taken so much, considering the amount of pain you must have been in." When Izaya winces Shinra knows he's struck a memory and his uncertainty starts to pull at him even as he narrows his eyes. "But the more I examined you, the more questions I wanted to ask. And I still do, trust me. However I'm not that mean and won't question you while you're still drugged pretty badly. You've got quite the cocktail in your system." He smiles at the joke but when Izaya doesn't follow that only fuels his anxiety.

"...I know." Izaya finally states though it's more of a whisper and his eyes are the most pitiful form of nervous fear. There's something that's unspoken hanging between them and Shinra bets that it's what makes Izaya unconsciously look as if he's about to cry, but Shinra knows better and judges it as a defense mechanism to play on his thoughts. It makes an old flame spark when he realizes Izaya's playing him and manipulating him, as drugged as he is, but he remembers Celty's words and forces his annoyance back down. Shinra keeps the grim smile on his face that's supposed to be hopeful and doesn't even know if he could fool himself with the facade he's put up to hide the churning storm of emotions beneath. After looking at Izaya's simple expression, Shinra registers that Izaya looks so _defeated._ And it's hard to tell whether or not Izaya's playing a game at all, knowing how slippery the informant is with a hint of disgust. If Izaya notices how Shinra accidentally-on purpose lets his contempt show, he doesn't say anything. In turn Shinra doesn't notice how Izaya's expression dampens considerably. It's a conversation for another day.

For a while neither of them say anything. Izaya's chest rises and falls with the hum of the ventilator supplying his oxygen and his eyes close while Shinra traces the scars with a definite source. It's especially hard because he's never gone through this before and therefore hasn't the best idea of what Izaya's feeling (they're not even friends so it's even worse to try and connect with someone you hate) or how to react or just where to start. Well, he thinks he's already started with telling Izaya what's happened.

Shinra's phone buzzes in his pocket, again. This time he takes it out with one hand still holding Izaya's and retrieves the message and the one he ignored before.

[Shizuo's pretty undecided. It looks like he really doesn't want anything to do with Izaya, but...I don't know how to explain. I'll just make sure he wants to do this.]

[We're here. I've explained to Shizuo that he's not allowed to bring up any of his grudge against Izaya and to try to control himself. So far he's done surprisingly well. Be up in a minute.]

Shinra smiles to himself at the messages and then chooses not to answer and place the phone carefully in his left pocket. He's not about to make that mistake again.

"Izaya," Shinra starts, nearly stammering over the two words that have suddenly crawled out of his throat and are demanding; begging, screaming, kicking, _please—_ when Izaya meets his eyes, he can't hold it in anymore. They tumble out of his mouth before he knows it and too quick for his mind to process what he says next.

"I'm sorry."

The informant's brows knit together in confusion and his mouth opens slightly as if to speak only to close clumsily. Shinra realizes in horror what he's just said—those two words that have haunted him probably since the day he and Izaya split ways in high school and did he really just say it now what was he thinking—he groans and rubs his forehead with his hand and pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose out of habit instead of necessity. But there's this incredible feeling of relief that washes through Shinra and lifts off his shoulders and lessens the vice on his chest that's been there longer than he could remember recalling it. And it feels completely strange and medically he's not sure how to explain, but he feels _better_. And kind of like throwing up until his lungs detach and slither out of his mouth because of how the air is missing and he can't breathe when there's nausea creeping up his throat.

What amazes him is how Izaya reacts. At first, he smiles tentatively and it's not one of those Cheshire cat grins or mocking or anything condescending. Instead, it's akin to the expression he's wearing with the smallest glimmer of hopeful thinking. Shinra is made aware of how rude he's been and still is, wearing bias and pretending to be completely considerate. That smile, however, makes him question what his opinions are anymore. And then Izaya speaks.

"'s not your fault." he slurs and then turns his head away and only manages an inch or two to the left. Shinra wonders what he's doing and since he hasn't pulled his arm away from him it only makes him question the behavior more until he sees Izaya's eyes scrunch together tightly like he's—

Crying.

And what Shinra sees makes him forget everything else from the paper in his pocket that just screws with his mind to the sound of Celty and Shizuo entering the apartment. Right now everything is zeroed in on the unbelievable sight of what he's pretty sure he's seeing but not really sure at the same time because it doesn't make much sense but at the same time it does and temporarily he loses himself to his rush of contradicting thoughts before he can remember what he's doing and who he's talking to.

Izaya _is_ crying. There are tears undeniably falling from his closed lids; nevertheless Shinra knows from intuition that it's not just because Izaya's drugged enough to knock out an elephant. And it's kind of really painful to watch someone who one's not sure if they're even acquaintances cry and know that they have no one close to them to comfort them especially when having just declared earlier that he hated him.

Realization makes Shinra stop. What has he been doing? Serving his old, bitter feelings because he _hated_ Izaya? And with the opportunity, Shinra knows exactly what he's done and it's worth cringing in disgust at himself because—look at yourself, Shinra. He's accused Izaya of playing him and lying when for God's sake he's lying in a cot fresh out of surgery and _in pain._ What part of that constitutes the right to make an assumption, just because he's Izaya, that he's plotting something?

The thoughts Shinra's having aren't entirely his. In fact, they sound like Celty's reprimanding him and this time he agrees that he deserves it. It's not fair to let emotional bias control him and it's even more petty when he takes out his old anger on someone who can't even fight back. It's cowardly, what it is. And he doesn't understand why there's a minor part of him that believes it's justified. If it is in a different context, maybe he would have agreed. But this isn't a different context and Shinra is not a child anymore, and therefore he shouldn't have to act like one when Izaya's finally awake.

He's disgusted in himself. For passing judgment like a scorned lover and it's not just Celty who would be disappointed in him. This needs to stop, and despite that minority that disagrees which he can't quite yet quell he decides to not think, but feel.

Shinra decides that he's close enough, then.

"Hey," Shinra murmurs and gently sets Izaya's arm parallel to his body before he place his freed hand in Izaya's washed hair (on the right because he remembers the large bump on the left). "I'm going to be honest in saying I'm completely out of my league here. And you can laugh or mock me as much as you'd like, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be here for you." Words fill Shinra's mouth before he thinks, and it's surprising how much he's impressed himself with what's come out of his mouth so far. What's more important is that this is his chance, a lucky second one to start over. To try and connect with Izaya, like Celty said. He's not sure where it'll go, but he'll try. Deep down he's not that cruel to keep a grudge over what Izaya's done for this long.

Izaya tries to move his right arm—presumably to wipe the fat drops rolling down his face and into his pillows held onto the cot by a metal bar headboard. Shinra uses his other hand to gently push Izaya's arm down in a silent request that is met with no resistance and wipes the wetness away with several brushes of his thumb that touches the sharp cheekbone defined by Izaya's lack of nutrition and proper body weight. Despite his best intentions, they still fall at the same rate even though Izaya doesn't open his eyes. Shinra can see his shoulders shaking and it pangs in his chest—the reality of it all just doesn't know when to stop catching him off guard. This is his chance to set things right—start over again.

It's quiet save for sounds of Shizuo talking to Celty and Shinra winces when Izaya freezes, or a pathetic attempt of doing that when he hears the familiar voice. Interestingly enough Shinra sees more tears fall and hears the warning beep of the bedside monitor of sudden increasing heart rate. So he tackles one issue at a time and hopes for the best.

"Izaya, I'm not going to interrogate you. I'll ask questions maybe later, but it's only because I need answers—and not just me. But Celty, and...Shizuo-kun. Well, that may be the last person you'd expect, but I have my ways of knowing certain things." he smiles to himself at the petty attempt at humor which actually holds more truth than he's letting on and before he knows it those red eyes are back on him. He won't say he cares until he can fully mean every bit of the word because it's cruel to bring Izaya's hopes up like that as he is. Brimming with unshed tears, Izaya understands. And he nods once with a fleeting small upturn of the lips Shinra knows is a rare smile that means _okay._ He blinks once, twice, and soon he gets the tears under control and Shinra uses a blanket to help clear off the remaining traces of wetness. The bedside monitor has stopped its warning tones and the silent beeping becomes steady once again.

"Hey, Shinra, you in there?" Shizuo's call comes through the door clearly and Shinra looks up before back to Izaya. His features are marred with a distasteful expression Shinra suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at but he takes Izaya's concerns into consideration.

"Yeah, give me a moment, Shizuo-kun." he calls to the voice behind the door and then turns to Izaya. "I'll be talking with Shizuo-kun and Celty for a moment. Will you be okay for a couple minutes? I was thinking of letting you have some visitors if you're up to it."

A look of almost fear or closer to wonder makes Izaya's face contort. The lack of muscle control kills the overall attempt, though. "I'll be okay. Say hi to Shizu-chan for me." he replies in his usual slur and gives a lazy grin to hide any emotion he expressed before. Shinra nods and removes his hand from Izaya's hair before he heads to the door.

"Oh, and don't worry; nothing in this room goes outside of this room." Shinra calls without looking back and he knows Izaya gets the message before he steps out and shuts the door behind him.

"Finally! What's taking you so long?" Shizuo greets with an exasperated look of annoyance and Shinra notices he isn't sitting on the sofa like he normally does. Celty nods a hello from the kitchen before she heads over to hear what Shinra has to say.

"Sorry about that, Shizuo-kun. Izaya's just woken up, that's all. How are you doing?" He sees Shizuo's eyes narrow and reminds himself he placed his trust in Shizuo's control of his temper earlier. "Why don't we sit down and talk before Izaya has visitors? So I can get you both up to date with what's gone on so far."

Shizuo looks reluctant, but nods curtly. "Alright." He relocates to the sofa where Celty has already perched herself with legs crossed. Shinra stands across from them just like the night before and the anxiety he felt before isn't making an appearance, which is making his day a little bit better although he's already emotionally drained.

"So, Izaya was stabilized last night." Shinra begins cheerfully as a contrast and more to help himself wake up from the toll of little sleep on his body. "I ran some scans and I have a confirmed diagnosis of several breaks to the left arm and leg and ankle, along with a sharp blow to the back of the head. This morning he was in surgery to remove the dangerous bone shards resulting from the severity of the breaks and currently is awake in the other room. However," he finishes his explanation before his cheerful facade breaks and his eyes are on Shizuo, watching him closely. "I don't know what caused these breaks, and one specifically in his leg is a fracture that is caused by excessive amounts of force because of its twisting pattern in the break. And therefore, Shizuo, I'd like to know if you were telling me the truth last night. It's not that I don't believe you, but I'm going to need more than what you gave me to prove it." Already he can feel Shizuo's blood starting to boil for him.

"What makes you think I did it? I told you I haven't seen the flea since last week! What part of last Tuesday do you not understand?" Shizuo snarls dangerously and clenches his fist. The coffee table at least a foot away is looking more appealing as something to smash into pieces as a substitute for Shinra's face. And the flea's. "I was sick earlier this week, how the hell could I have gone after the flea then?"

Shinra looks thoughtful with consideration. "Well, if that's the case, then what happened to him I'm not entirely too sure."

"Why don't you just ask the louse and find out yourself?" Shizuo bites back and Shinra shrugs like they're talking about the weather. This conversation is exactly what Shizuo's brain predicted in the sleepless hours of this morning craving enough nicotine to send him into a coma. His fingers fiddle with his bow tie while he leans on one hand and lets his fingers slide into his messy hair. "So then what's the point of bringing me here? To interrogate me, just like Izaya and try to make the _monster_ act like a monster?"

The air crackles but Shizuo keeps going. His blood is bubbling hot in his veins and he's sick of this. "What makes you any better than him, then!? Just using me to explain what you don't want to understand, is that it? You're wasting your time bringing me here and just expecting me to show some sort of feeling for the person that I've hated since high school, and I don't even understand why you'd bother with involving me besides wanting to pin the blame on me. And here I thought you didn't even care about him. Am I wrong about that too?" his lips curl into a snarl and his eyes narrow behind his blue sunglasses. Celty tenses and readies for fight-or-flight depending on how the situation's going to go and caught between how and when to interject and try to sort things out. This isn't going how she hoped it would.

"You're not completely wrong." Shinra keeps his expression firm and eyes closed off from any emotion. "I admit it, though; I wasn't thinking much through last night. I was just reacting from seeing such an unexpected sight. But it's not just that, too. I made decisions, and I said things I probably shouldn't have and I tried to pin the blame on you, didn't I." The confession is surprisingly calm, but Celty notices how Shinra's voice has dropped with a hidden ache. She's beginning to suspect there's more than what Shinra's told her and it divides her thoughts—confusion to what she doesn't know, and upset because he's keeping something from her.

"Izaya-kun was never my friend. In fact, we were never even acquaintances. He didn't tell me anything about himself, and I couldn't care less at the time. That's how we've always been, and it never changed. I treated him when he's been hurt because he paid me for my services, but that's it. If anything, I wanted him to stay out of my life completely so he would stop using Celty. And I never noticed it until now." Shinra swallows and he tries to keep his voice steady. "For some reason, today, when Izaya was waking up I kept accusing him of trying to plan something because that's what he's done, especially to those Raira students those months ago. The way he talked, acted, it didn't make much sense to me. I thought he was playing me like a fool just for another one of his games."

Celty is at a loss for words. Shinra, she knows, never did have a relationship with Izaya in any way, but when she hears the doubt he'd been facing right when Izaya woke up, she wonders what's been going on in his mind and why didn't she see this before?

"But then I saw it. And once I did, I remembered that Izaya's not a monster. He's a human being, just like us." He doesn't mention the weight in his pocket for a specific reason—namely, he can't face the entirety just yet. Yet he can still picture the tears rolling down Izaya's cheeks and the broken look haunting his eyes and wonders why he didn't take those cuts seriously when he first saw them and remember when the first bitter taste of doubt crossed his mind. "I really don't know how to explain it, I guess. It's something I'll leave to you to talk to Izaya with, but only if you really want to. I know I was asking too much of you last night, so I'm giving you the option now. But what you choose is what you're stuck with."

Shizuo remains silent save for the nod of acknowledgment and Shinra finds it a little better to breathe after that mouthful of word vomit coming from his overworked brain. Then, he finds the right words to make himself clear.

"You can visit him today and talk with him in private and help me rehabilitate Izaya because he needs more than just me to help him." Shinra starts, and he gives a feeble smile. "Or, you can choose to get up, leave, and pretend this never happened. But I can't guarantee what'll happen with whichever you choose."

Silence. It should be common considering how this entire situation has been heading in a certain path that's unpredictable at best and filled with gaps of tense silence from all parties involved. He knows Shizuo's taking a big risk in participating or not with the secrets Shinra's been keeping and to explain now will only guarantee certain disaster.

"I'll talk to him. Just let me have a smoke first." Shizuo stands and turns to the balcony palming his carton of cigarettes in his pocket and pulling out his lighter. The sliding door opens and shuts and then Celty and Shinra are left alone.

Shinra can't bring himself to look at Celty. His guilt claws at him for hiding important things from his beloved and he knows she's going to be angry and she has every right to be. He pretends to ignore the taps on her PDA.

[Why are you hiding things from me?] Perceptive as always, dear Celty. She sounds more hurt than angry though.

"I—ugh, how do I explain..." he mutters mainly to himself, "Well, to be honest I didn't know how to tell you or what to say. This entire thing has been over my head and I'm the doctor, so it's my job to understand the most confusing of situations concerning the health of others. But if I can't do that, then how am I supposed to keep you from worrying? What am I supposed to say if you don't believe in me? Celty, I didn't mean to keep it from you, I just wanted you to still love me and wait until I could sort things out a little so I wouldn't make myself look like a fool in front of you."

Celty pauses from his words. Then, she punches him in the arm. Hard. [How could you think that!? It doesn't matter whether or not you look smart to me, Shinra, because I'm not going to suddenly stop loving you. Who do you think I am? And so what if you don't understand at first what's going on? But maybe if you decide to stop and actually think to include someone else you can get somewhere instead of keeping it all to yourself!] No matter how much her shoulders are shaking, Shinra can't help the hopelessly-in-love grin that spreads across his cheeks while he rubs his arm. Before he can say anything more embarrassing than what she's said, Celty pulls Shinra into a tight embrace and rests her head on his shoulder while her arms squeeze around him tightly. Reassuring him in every way she can and his heart skips a couple beats.

"Ah, Celty my dearest, you always know what to say." Shinra announces happily and much to Celty's embarrassment. "But as much as I'd love to express to my undying love to you each and every minute of today, we do have guests and one of them just woke up. And I bet you'd like to go see him, am I right? Just not more than you'd want to see me—ow! Hey!" he sputters and rubs his arm where Celty lands another punch on him and gets up, waving to him and leaving to the guest room while Shinra smiles lovingly like a puppy following its master.

Leaving Shinra to deal with Shizuo, Celty knocks once on the door before she opens it and enters, shutting it behind herself to leave only her and Izaya in the room without outside audience. Immediately she notices Izaya's eyes are on her, lazily watching through his drug-induced haze.

"Hi there," he slurs from the cot as she walks over with a wave of her hand in reply. "I almos' thought you were Shizu-chan, but Shizu-chan wouldn't be here, anyway." She frowns when she hears the last murmur. When she reaches his side she notices his eyes are red but doesn't ask.

[How are you feeling?] she types and holds her phone close to Izaya when she reaches the cot so he doesn't have to strain his eyes. Slowly he squints and tries to read the words, but it doesn't seem that he understands what she says. An idea comes to mind then and she pulls up an application on her PDA that reads text, pressing the 'talk' button and the room's silence is interrupted by a female's monotone of Celty's words.

Izaya's eyes light up in understanding. Good, she thinks. "Oh. 'm okay. I don't remember much o' anything, though." She nods and types, then selecting the speaking option again.

["I bet. Are you in any pain?"] Izaya's eyes fall from her face and she realizes how tired he looks despite how he tries to keep his eyes open.

"Not really." His eyes flicker to the ceiling and then he winces from the brightness of the overhead light, coming back down to Celty. "What did Shinra tell you?" His words are unusually guarded, but Celty tells herself to expect it knowing where he's coming from.

["Not any more than he's told you about me. I know that I brought you here, and that you've taken quite the beating."] His eyes fade and his mouth droops into a frown that affects Celty. She wishes she knew what he's thinking because he just looks so hurt that it makes her own heart ache. Like a kicked puppy.

"M'kay then." he shifts, then cringes when he hurts himself by the movement and Celty moves, seeking to help him but his free hand waves off the concern slowly with a simple flap from his wrist. "Is Shizu-chan going to come here? I thought I heard him."

Confused by the sudden change of topic, she respects the unvoiced request of dropping the conversation they had and changing to a different subject. But to talk about Shizuo, she's not entirely sure why. But maybe...

["Shizuo is here. Did you want to see him?"] No, it couldn't be. After all that fuss and anger—yeah, that couldn't be it. What was she thinking, anyway?

Izaya gives a strange satisfied smile and murmurs mainly to himself. "Aw, Shizu-chan came for me. Can I?"

An idea comes to mind. It sounds cruel the moment it's tangible enough to think through, but Celty doesn't know when she'll get another chance. Hopefully she won't sound too harsh.

["You can. But first, I want to know something."] She swears she sees a strange expression cross his face before the unusually calm facade is back and her desire for answers grows stronger. Something's up and while she's not the best at reading expressions, she's certainly perceptive enough to notice that Izaya doesn't seem as enthusiastic to meet Shizuo as he sounds, nor is he to answer anything. Almost like he's reluctant to speak about his condition in the first place. ["I-If you're not sure you want to answer, you can just tell me that too. Don't try to force yourself if you really can't yet."] she adds. Izaya doesn't meet her eyes but stares at the ground. He seems so out of character, she thinks to herself.

When he doesn't answer, Celty tries a tentative step forward. Izaya's uneasy expression is a strange one she's not sure she's ever seen before. Questions stir up in her mind like dust in a windstorm and she picks one at random, not really thinking about it but hoping it'll be a better ice breaker than some awkward conversation tiptoeing around what she thinks may be the problem.

["Who hurt you?"] When the voice finishes speaking, there's silence. Again with the silence Celty's not too bothered with having heard it often since last night, but she does take notice of how Izaya is suddenly rigid and keeping his eyes anywhere but on her while his fingers tug gently at his long sleeve from Shinra's borrowed shirt.

He clears his throat. The bedside monitors squeaks in a spike of a heartbeat. Izaya knows he can't hide that, which frustrates him to no end and not only because he's not in control but how helpless he's feeling. "I ran into some people who turned out to not be fans of mine." he says carefully as if he's speaking over a lump in his throat. Then a shudder runs through him he doesn't try to stop. He knows he can't. "Th-They said that Shizu-chan told them where to find me after a meeting with a client. Wanted to pay a debt by 'doing him a favor'."

Celty's heart drops and the possibilities of it falling out of her chest and onto the floor are mounting high. Izaya doesn't look like he's lying and she doubts he's capable of it as drugged as he is and how his face is genuine in an expression that makes him seem so small and she starts to understand just how out of control he feels. She keeps herself calm by focusing on what to type next while her brain tries to sort this out. But Shizuo was ill, that's what he said, so how could he have sent people to kill Izaya? And why? He's never spoken of intentionally wanting to kill Izaya, so the whole thing isn't making much sense to her.

["What did they do to you?"] She's not sure she wants to hear the answer, but she knows she needs to. He needs to come to terms with it as well.

"Well, they beat me, Celty. But you know that." He smiles and it doesn't reach anywhere near his eyes and he continues to slur with struggling pronunciation. "Threw me around, against a brick wall—I remember that one 'cause that's when I heard my head crack when I had knocked their knives out o' their hands. I was gonna win, 'cause they were amateurs but then they held me down an' they twisted my leg until it broke and dropped something on my ankle. And then I...I was knocked out or something, an' I don't remember anything else 'cept my left arm was on fire. After that I got home somehow, I set my shoulder—it was dislocated, and..." Izaya trails off as his voice fades into a small whisper and his eyes are unfocused.

["You don't have to continue answering that. I know enough."] Celty quickly taps and it serves as an apology, cringing while typing. Izaya remains still, and the beeping of the heart rate monitor returns to normal, if not slightly slower.

Next question; she decides to move on. But first: ["Izaya, I need you to understand something. Shizuo didn't send those people after you. I know he didn't. He was sick and there's no way he would've known where you were. And I know he wouldn't try to kill you like that."]

Izaya's eyes finally flit up to her and she sees the unsettling disturbance behind them. There is something more than skin deep than she knows of, lying in wait like a monster in the dark. So many questions in her mind, but she has to go through one at a time. Most of them she's (most definitely not) sure she wants to know the answer to.

"I know that." Izaya answers almost playfully, as if he's been expecting that which confuses Celty even more. What does he know, then? And what's going on? "But the funny thing is, Celty, is that I _let_ them do it to me. I didn't even care." his voice is breaking at an alarming rate and Celty's startled, watching a mask of papier-mâché crumble and fall in shambles. "I-It doesn't even make sense, do you know why? 'Cause I... I..." he tries to compose himself (almost desperately) and Celty feels helpless watching Izaya tremble like she's never seen him before. She braces herself as if she's expecting the worst and her brain is screaming that something is _so very wrong_.

Izaya swallows a heavy lump that bobs with his dried throat. "I wanted to die, Celty. And the best part is I don't even know _why_." His voice is a whisper so quiet Celty can only hear because she's not human and she can read his lips, the way they tremble and quiver when he bites them harshly and his tongue darts out to swipe the pooling blood off. Hand shaking it clenches the fabric of the blanket covering him and he turns his head away. Celty can tell without looking at his face that Izaya is not only telling the (painfully agonizing) truth but she can taste the bitter saltiness in the air and grimly acknowledges it by politely turning her head away.

No one speaks. It's better that way, anyway. Celty is rocked to the core on how much Izaya has been consumed by something she doesn't know. What's worse is that he doesn't even know what's wrong with himself, judging by the way he tries to cover his face and grips tightly at his skin to stop the show of emotion. This isn't the Izaya she knows.

["Don't hurt yourself. It's okay."] she says, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and brushing his right hand away from the IV which reminds him of Shinra earlier. The rest of her sentence is unvoiced however she knows he understands. Izaya's very clever, despite the pain he's going through.

"Ah, Celty..." Izaya murmurs, letting his hand drop and his tired eyes are redder than normal. "This must be why Shinra dotes on you so much." His eyes droop and Celty takes his hand, touching at the wrist and carefully setting it back down when she hears the warning call of the bedside monitor's restricted readings.

["Go ahead and go back to sleep, Izaya. You'll need to rest."] The informant grins idly and attempts to roll his eyes, failing in doing so.

"Celty." His voice is unusually curt when she heads for the door when his eyes flutter shut. She stops. "Don't." The rest of his request is understood. She types but doesn't turn to him. Feels him stare through her back although she's pretty sure he's mostly asleep by now as the new automatic dose of drugs kicks in.

["Of course not."]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to moving, I will not be able to update the week of 9/10. As an apology the next chapter will hopefully be posted next week or as late as the week after, and the sequel to "Breaking Point" will be up as well. Thank you, and my sincerest apologies.
> 
> Another early update; I'm on a roll.
> 
> Until next time.


	4. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the monster isn't the one it should be.

  _~_

 

_...You don't have to like me, just don't hate me._

   
["Hello."] Forgetting that the voice function is still on isn't one of Celty's finer moments. It is, however, considered when Shinra jumps nearly two feet in the air and Shizuo snaps his head around the moment she steps out onto the balcony. Realizing her mistake (and laughing at Shinra) she turns the voice message off, showing [Sorry.] on her PDA screen.

"Goodness, Celty! I'm not that young anymore and I'd prefer if I could live a couple more decades." Shinra tries to play it off nonchalantly, but Shizuo can do it better and does without a word. "So, how is he doing?"

She's not sure how to answer that, so she goes with a generic answer. [He's fine. So what's up?] The conversation she had with Izaya earlier, as drugged as he is, is unsettling. Call it intuition, but she has a feeling that there's more to the explanation than he's let known. Of course it being Izaya, Celty knows she cannot trust him as easily (he is an informant, after all) and especially when the matter concerns him. Her suspicions she'll have to allow to linger, until she can settle together bits and pieces, followed by her own beliefs. A stronger part of her knows Izaya won't say much of anything.

"Well, that's good to hear. Shizuo's decided he's going to go say hello." Shinra can feel Shizuo glaring daggers and wonders nervously if looks can kill. He thinks there's a time he heard Shizuo talking about the statistics, but to apply them while glaring daggers and an entire arsenal of weaponry, he wouldn't like to test that theory in favor of not being disemboweled in front of Celty's untainted eyes.

"I never said that." Shizuo interrupts, grinding his teeth and Celty feels the tension thicken the air. Shinra's a cheeky bastard if he thinks a little play on words is going to get him to do anything. He of all people should have been the last one to ask to babysit the shitty flea. Unsurprisingly to Celty, this is different than what Shizuo said earlier, and his brand new carton of cigarettes appears to have gone through a horrible fate going by the tobacco stains on Shizuo's right hand. "Quit making up shit just because it's what you want. Haven't you realized I don't give a fuck about the flea?"

[Why don't you just go see him? He should be sleeping by now.] Knowing the drugs had begun to kick in toward the end of their conversation, Celty stares at Shizuo expectantly. Only Shinra notices though because he can read her like an open book and Shizuo doesn't understand she doesn't need a head to express emotion. Shizuo's still sticking with the grumpy expression on his face that is ironic for his age and even more so when it makes him look like a middle school student and just as stubborn, too.

"I agree with Celty. With Izaya under the influence of several powerful drugs, I'm sure he won't be too annoying." Shinra's eyes close and he has a smile that even Celty notices as too sincere for his words. The tone of voice is unsettling when pairing with Shinra's expression which makes a dour sensation well up and harden in the pit of his empty stomach. What he does not want is to speak of his conversation Shinra practically forced on him while Celty was talking with the damn flea because Shinra's sly and he probably wouldn't be able to get away with maiming him (just a little) with Celty around and that possibility reluctantly is defeated. He's never been one for the story behind words differing from what's spoken because he likes things simple and easy to maneuver with—Izaya's dominant habit that made him a flea in Shizuo's mind. Bloodthirsty, relentlessly cruel, and unreasonably deceptive with that cocky grin and switchblade always flickering in his hand at any given time in a ruined day. Just the thought of that annoying smile of the flea's makes him want to punch the wall. Again.

Right now Shizuo's not too sure he wants to do this anymore. Really, he can't. His brain is telling him _no, no, no,_ and the majority of his judgment—he never listens to the minority because of how stupid it sounds—is pulling out all the stops and demanding that he turn and leave before he rips Shinra's apartment apart until his temper is sated, no matter how beast-like it sounds he doesn't want to think about it. That's the flea's job, even if he doesn't admit to that when Izaya's already wordlessly acclaimed the title for himself in the years they've hated each other.

"He'll be fine without me." Shizuo states as blankly as he can, staring ahead onto the streets below but never perceiving the life before him as thoughts fill and churn in his head, twisting into another ugly headache that leads the twitching in his fingers for a cigarette, which he doesn't have due to crushing the carton from his earlier conversation with Shinra and launching it at him, only for Shinra to duck and both watch the crushed cigarettes fall from the balcony. Why should he care he doesn't know what the answer is from Shinra. Celty probably just wants them to get along without killing each other and although they're friends, he cannot bring himself to tolerate the bastard who continually ruins his life and makes him out to be a monster, infuriating him to no end. The flea should just die already and get the fuck out of his life.

From the corner of his eye he doesn't see Shinra's full reaction of his mouth curving into a disappointed frown (stop it, what do you know and don't stare like that), much more subtle than Celty's full turn to him and she's probably typing something in the same tone as well. Quit staring like this is a circus show. Don't even dare bother looking disappointed when he's not the one who is much involved in anything that's happened and where the hell are his cigarettes when he needs them? (Besides on the ground because at this point it's easier to deny his anger-fueled actions.)

[You can't just give up now! Come on, Shizuo, don't give up because of what's happened between you two.] Celty taps her foot impatiently as Shinra watches them silently. Is she serious? Has she lost it yet or is this a test? Unease creeps and itches when it pricks Shizuo's skin, right underneath where he can't reach and the feeling of being stared at starts to make his control ebb away. He sighs; deep breaths to try and calm himself down because he's _supposed_ to be better than his anger. All he can think about is how frustrating everything—himself, mainly—is and how much he really doesn't want to be here anymore.

He turns, intending to head for the sliding door leading back to the apartment. Celty pushes her PDA in his face, blocking the door. [Shizuo, please, just listen to us. The Izaya lying in that bed right now is not the same Izaya you fight with. I'm not saying you need to be friends with him. I'm saying you should support him, because I know he would do the same for you.] Celty unknowingly crosses the line (she thinks she's just toeing it because really, how _could_ she know these certain things) and suddenly the tension in the air snaps and breaks like a bundle of uncooked noodles. Except the snapping sound has the more likely origin of Shizuo's veins snapping under the sudden pressure exerted from his muscles.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Shizuo snaps, turning to Celty and lips curling into a snarl. "What are you, out of your mind? You don't even have a head and the bullshit you're spewing is worse than what anyone would say if they had one!"

Celty's shoulders tense and her fingers curl inward to form tight fists. She trembles: a shock wave that ripples through her once before she draws herself up and smoke begins to thickly expel outward and tumble and roll as it erupts from the empty space where her head is supposed to be. Anger seizes her before she can come to her senses and she wishes she had her head so she could show Shizuo just how furious she is for his ignorant comments. She's only trying to help and he's still the same stubborn fool at times. There's a heart in there somewhere that isn't tainted by hatred, so how can she make him understand this? But, even she knows she can't force him to do anything—she'd rather not, it isn't her nature to do that but at least try to urge him in a better direction.

But Shizuo keeps going, succumbing to his out-of-control boiling blood and his voice rises with the surges of anger to articulate his broken restraints. "First you accuse me of fucking up the flea—who I don't even give two shits about, and then you drag me over here and try to make me care about him as if he was a fucking human being! Have you finally lost your damn mind? This is the flea I'm talking about, the one who uses whoever pleases him and then destroying their lives, just like he did to me! And you want to call me the _monster?_ Just whose side are you on, Celty? Because I don't know a damn thing anymore, obviously."

Shinra steps in, covering for Celty who isn't fast enough with her typing to get a word in to Shizuo, though with how his voice rises in anger it's clear she won't get anything to him anyway. "Don't talk to Celty like that! If anyone deserved to be insulted, she's the one who would never deserve it! You're acting like a spoiled brat, Shizuo, and when you get angry because things aren't going your way you take it out on whoever is convenient for you, no? Izaya knows that because I'm the one who has patched him up, every single time _you_ decide he's your punching bag. Do you have _any_ idea what you're talking about, or are you just spewing out whatever comes to mind?"

The rail to the balcony suffers a series of pops and metallic creaking when Shizuo's hands grab hold of it and he growls viciously. "You're a fucking hypocrite yourself! You're asking me to do the impossible by pretending to care about the flea—you even know what he's done to me and others and you, yet you're saying you just don't care!? What kind of crack doctor are you, getting carried away because of emotions or because this is some sick game that flea's playing now?"

"You think everything's a game if you don't understand it! Don't you get it, Shizuo? You can't even see past the most obvious of defenses which is why you misinterpret everything, and yet you're the one who contradicts yourself. I'm caring for him because I'm a doctor and it's the right thing to do. I'm _asking_ you to help him because he's been beaten and left for dead— _stop this—_ and listen to me, for once! Izaya isn't just beaten and suffering from broken bones, he's dying because he's damaged enough to attempt suicide and you think that this is just a game! Do you know what's more sad than that? It's you, saying it's a game to cover up your own insecurity on what you don't know! It doesn't take a psychiatrist to know that, Shizuo." Shinra, in spite of proper behavior of a doctor, cannot help himself. The atmosphere is growing too dangerous, but his head is thick with pulsing blood rushing in his ears and the edges of his vision seep with red.

"Like you know anything!" Shizuo snaps, ripping the rail from the ground and stepping forward, bracing his body weight against his leg and his arms swing the metal toward Shinra at alarming speeds. It's too fast for Shinra to step back or brace himself and at how close they are Shizuo is capable of decapitating Shinra with how fast he's flinging the metal while blinded in white-hot rage sparking and catching fire, blinding him with the bitter taste of old blood and metal when he intends to kill Shinra in the snapping moment his control fully slips from him.

A deep, guttural sound tears from Shizuo's throat (not unlike a beast) and pierces the air with teeth bared, lips pulled back and he actually resembles an animal in how wild and vicious his strength is when he lashes out. The air around them quivers in the heavy weight of radicalized fury surging outward and grasping anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby, to seize before he rips his prey apart while they are paralyzed within his grasp. This is not a conscious choice—it never has been and he never wants it to be—but his anger has taken over his mind in a twisted form of mind control that commands his strength on puppet strings coiling and tensing to _kill kill kill_.

Shinra is the one who doesn't see what's happening the moment it does, but Celty being far superior to humans in certain ways, can tell the fight has gone too far and even though her feelings are hurt and she's angry at the hurtful comments Shizuo's said, she knows better than to let it get to her and instead she reacts on the split second moment's notice and uses her shadows to grasp (and grab and rip) and pull apart the tangled mess incoming and sure to end in blood and violence. In the nanoseconds that pass in a blink of an eye she watches, almost as if in slowed motion as Shinra's coat is pulled and the doctor stumbles back and teeters dangerously near the unguarded edge of the balcony and she reaches one hand out to snap at his shirt and still his momentum so he doesn't fall to the ground—the Raira girl, the one Izaya kidnapped, comes to mind in that horrifying memory—and her other hand reaches for Shizuo's collar as shadows brace the swing to try and bring it to a screeching halt before everything she's worked for comes tumbling down, quite literally if and when the balcony crumbles beneath them.

The force that stops him reacts against Shizuo's favor, pushing him back when the metal is wrenched from his fingers and in a moment of confusion his feet come out from beneath him and he tumbles back, suddenly meeting the edge of the ruined area and he doesn't have the balance or awareness to grab for the empty space in place of the rail he's ruined. There are white flashes that induce the beginnings of a migraine when his brain registers he's falling that streak across his vision and his eyes roll back from the intensity that strikes him.

And he falls.

Breathless, not counting the seconds that tick by in the moments he's suspended because he knows deep in his mind that he's deserved this. He deserves everything that's happened to him from every mistake he's made and how utterly stupid he always is. Heights have never been a good thing from behind and he can feel the unconscious fear spreading through the branches of veins drifting down and apart from his spine and despite the fact he's twenty-three, he feels fear as if he's never grown up at all like a four-year-old who breaks their arm for the first time ripping the kitchen sink out in a fit of a tantrum. And it's weakness he hates, just like the existence he's just proved to be so useless. Oddly enough, the cycle of self-hatred and lashing out in rage keeps going on. Life taunts him like Izaya, he thinks.

(There's the slight question he's had—not that he'd admit, but—does Izaya _know_ anything—of course he does, idiot. He's a shitty information broker.)

Suddenly Shizuo feels the strange, wispy, almost not there warmth he recognizes as Celty's shadows, and his fall quickly comes to a roaring halt and he jolts when the shadows rope around his torso, pulling him back up faster than his brain has time to process and when he's set on stable ground he collapses to his knees and holds his head from the vertigo plaguing him. Balance not fully restored and brain scrambling for information through the panicked response his body places on his thoughts from the fall he crumples forward unwillingly, only to be stopped by hands on his shoulders that brace him and keep him on his knees while he covers his stinging eyes with a hand and the other lies uselessly against him.

When he opens his eyes after brief seconds of collecting himself, Shizuo first notices Celty's grasp on him, the gentle yet firm reminder of where he is and what's just happened. It almost feels like—don't think about that. His temper, driven out by the dominating response of shock from the fall slowly cascades down to a tolerable point, although it bubbles thickly in his veins like poison he can't swallow.

[Are you alright?] Celty holds the PDA uncomfortably close and he uses his free hand to push back the glowing screen that threatens to skin his eyeballs. A nod is her reply which causes him to blink away the blinding lights that are summoned with the sudden action, and Celty types again.

[Let's go inside and talk calmly for a moment. I think it's best if you thought about this a little more.] She's careful not to bring up Izaya anymore or how he contradicted himself earlier as she realizes that emotions are frustrating for Shizuo like they are for Shinra, but maybe a little more than she realizes.

When she's sure that Shizuo can support himself she turns to Shinra and types something, which appears to make his disgruntled expression calm dramatically (a difficult thing to do, but Celty's pretty capable of anything) and she motions for all of them to head inside, pushing the destroyed rail aside with her shadows and stepping in.

They settle on the couch in their usual positions, although Shinra and Shizuo silently agree to switch places so Shizuo can pace as the rest of his anger filters from his system. No one volunteers to start the conversation when it's been a long day and it's only ten in the morning. Good thing Celty's there.

["So, let's decide what we're going to do here. I think it's best if you give yourself some time over this, Shizuo."] Celty types, but she turns on the voice setting so both know what she's saying. The monotonous female voice is something Shinra could never get used to and preferred Celty's texts, saying her voice was the one he wanted to hear the most.

"I agree." Shinra murmurs quietly, nodding to himself, "After what's happened today, I don't think you're agreeable to doing much for anyone, including yourself. I hate saying it, but I'm going back on my word just because I know forcing you will never work." Took him long enough to realize it.

"Don't expect it to. I don't care about the flea at all." Shizuo growls under his breath, loud enough to be heard. "He's a pain in my ass and the only reason I'm here is because you think that I have to help him because he's the one who finally got himself in for." This entire day has been an utter waste of time and he would rather spend his day off not thinking of his immortal enemy that just wouldn't die, making his life all the more frustrating because that's what fleas do.

Celty wants to say what Shizuo's words are doing—the door is _right_ there and it's open enough to let light filter in a single line. Please don't let fate be that cruel. She knows he should be sleeping, but with the commotion earlier she can't be too sure. ["The reason why you're here is because Shinra can't be the only one to help him, including me. We asked for your help because you're the only one that I trust enough to help him, even if you hate him."] She cringes but only she feels it. Wondering, nervously, if he's hearing these words that he shouldn't be. Not yet, not now. Secrets just make her anxious and with all that's been going on in just one night and barely one morning she feels overwhelmed and exhausted at this point although she can't rest until she knows everything.

"That's true. You see, I'm only a medical doctor. But I've got patients, and I'm not going to be able to take care of him most of the time because I'm busy. And what he needs isn't just a doctor." Shinra's clearly hiding something and it bothers the other two in the room who are listening when he doesn't explain further.

"Then why me? Why not call up one of his acquaintances or whatever he has? He's bound to know plenty of misled morons who are at his beck and call." Shizuo shoots back and ignores the way his sentence leaves a gnawing feeling at the back of his throat that's tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

["Please. At least consider it."] Celty wishes she could let Shizuo hear the emotion in her thoughts only the monotonous voice is the farthest she can go. ["Despite what you may think or hear, Izaya only has us."]

"This is the flea we're talking about." Shizuo confirms in a monotonous inquiry and deadpans perfectly while he doesn't believe what he's just heard and probably won't. Shinra rolls his eyes expectantly. (Of course this would happen. What else could he expect otherwise?)

"Yes, it is. But considering the circumstances we're in, he's going to need all the help he can get. Try to think of it as something to be an ice breaker for you two? Oh, you know, you both never really started off on the right foot—" Shinra starts and is abruptly cut off the moment he starts getting excitable is when Shizuo detaches a painting from the wall and hurls it at him, leading to Celty quickly grabbing it and setting it on the floor with her ever-helpful shadows, giving a warning flicker to Shizuo to watch himself. He rolls his eyes and Shinra pretends nothing happened as it's best to do as usual.

"Do you not know when to shut up? You're as annoying as the flea. Except you don't reek as badly." Shizuo crosses his arms and Shinra scoffs in complaint. Celty's patience starts to feel tested in these types of situations. It shouldn't get the best of her, Shizuo's uncontrolled anger; this just happens to be one of those times she wants to have at least a couple hours of sleep before she deals with the day's stressors.

["Shizuo, please."] Celty interrupts yet again. ["It's not going to be for forever. Just a couple months, or until we can find someone else to help rehabilitate him. His broken leg and arm will leave him unable to do much of anything by himself for a while."] She glances to the door, and Shinra notices this time. He saves the silent question for later, committing it to the back of his thoughts.

"...Just give me time to think about it while you look for other people to deal with his shit. I've got work to do, and I can't just be expected to take care of an asshole that I _hate_ all of a sudden." Shinra murmurs something after Shizuo finishes that causes the blond to glare heavily at him, but the doctor waves it off as nothing. Celty gets even more of an inkling that there's more to this she's been left in the dark with.

["I can help compensate you. Don't worry about funds."] Celty offers, but Shizuo's mood and expression are still bitter. This is going to be a long process, she muses.

"We'll come to a final decision later. You can leave and we'll settle this at a different time for what to do, unless I can find someone to take care of him." Shinra decides that it doesn't feel a least somewhat wrong to pretend his earlier conversations with Shizuo never happened and he never tried to make Shizuo cooperate. This is for the best, he concludes grimly.

"Fine. I don't need to be around the flea any more than I have to. Don't expect me to give up my time for a parasite like him." Shizuo says, unaware of the crack in the door several feet away when he raises his voice and the implications of the possible scenarios are no less than damaging. "He should learn what it feels like, after everything he's done. I don't know what's wrong with you two, but you should have left him to suffer like he does for everyone else so he can realize how much of a flea he is." The comment earns a disapproving glance from Shinra who opens his mouth to say something only to shake his head in what seems like disbelief. Knowing Shizuo's temper, however, paired with his broken balcony he'll need to get fixed, he's had enough of trying to get Shizuo to cooperate for today. And the rest of his life, too.

Celty nervously glances at the door and Shinra watches her again, confused by her behavior. Shizuo excuses himself and practically stomps out the door going by the volume of his footsteps and how the ground trembles in wake of each footstep and with one last vibration as the door slams shut.

"That went well." Shinra comments, putting his arms behind his head and stretching. Shizuo can be difficult and tiring all at the same time, to which he'll never know how Celty can deal with him, especially when he's in one of his tantrums. Celty glances in the darkened guest room for the reason they both know (well, maybe Shinra doesn't know what she's looking for) before she turns, closing the door and types while shadow tendrils hang the painting back up on the wall.

[He's asleep, at least.] Is that concern, Celty? And for someone other than him? In all seriousness though, it's a relief that Izaya wasn't listening to their conversation despite Shizuo's tendency to make himself louder than necessary. But she still looks troubled, like something's still bothering her. [I don't know what's going to happen, Shinra.]

"What do you mean?" Shinra gets up and heads to the kitchen, intent on making tea for himself and turns back to his dear Celty after he's put the kettle on. Traditional, but just the way Celty prefers her tea. Or watching Shinra make it, since the lack of a head poses the sort of problem of drinking tea.

[Maybe it wasn't a good idea to try and get Shizuo involved. I don't know, I guess I'm just over thinking it. It's not only that we're both busy, but Izaya needs someone to watch him for long periods of time. Especially with what you're not telling me, which I assume you will.] To illustrate her point, Celty nods toward Shinra's laptop on the counter top she spied earlier. [Who were you talking to online? Was it an email?]

And he's caught. No use trying to tell her otherwise, then. "No, I'm losing years every time I have to fix another one of Shizuo's victims, and Izaya's more than enough on his own. It was my idea in the first place, and despite the fact it's practically impossible, it can happen. Anyway, how's that theory of yours holding up?"

[Shizuo's stubborn, and I don't know how you're going to do it, but I trust you.] Celty types, nodding when Shinra sets a cup of tea down for himself. [Now, tell me.]

"Tell you what?" Shinra laughs nervously and Celty's good at picking him apart when need be. She's not entirely thrilled he's reluctant on telling her something that she's supposed to be a part of. And it's not clear if she's disappointed or hurt that he keeps secrets from her, but as a hypocrite herself, she really can't have expectations. It still hurts though.

[Who did you email this morning? And don't tell me otherwise, I saw you.] She doesn't add that she saw him attaching images coming from Izaya's scans but she knows he'll understand anyway. What she wants to know is why Shinra's hiding several things from her, but she's starting from the basics to make sure she's not missing anything.

"Ah, well," Shinra sips his tea and looks toward the wall, holding his head in his other hand with his elbow resting on the table. "I've been trying to get in touch with a friend of mine. I've sent them photos of external and internal injuries to let them have a better look at what Izaya's going through, and to help me figure out what's wrong with him."

[You mean you don't know?] Celty cocks her head to the side. What doesn't he know? Well, she knows there's more to Izaya than his physical injuries (which she has promised not to tell Shinra where from, even though the thought isn't pleasant considering she's not fond of secrets) and his— _suicidal—_ emotional breakdown was troubling to hear (another secret) even though she would have rather heard it than ignore him. Maybe they're not on the best of terms (she doesn't even think anyone likes him) but her compassion, which Shinra says he adores about her, doesn't have limits. Confusing, but it's better to go with it than try to understand it fully, she's realized in her lifetime with Shinra.

"To be honest, not really." Shinra's eyes flicker back to her and she can feel the intensity of his troubled expression. "Physically, he's pretty roughed up. Mentally is where I have problems. I'm no mental doctor, and therefore I don't understand the human brain in psychological terms. We both know what happened—" Celty shudders in memory "—but I don't know why he did it and him telling me isn't enough to help him in the long run."

Celty pauses, taking in information before she types again. [So you're asking a psychologist for help? What if Izaya won't...you know, comply? I don't think he's that willing, even under the influence of sedatives.]

"Of course he's not. I don't expect him to be, anyway." Shinra waves off her concern easily. Even though his uneasiness is starting back up in his thoughts, trickling into his brain with an uncomfortable itch like salt in a wound. His fingers twitch and something starts to seem off to him, but he brushes the concern away because he's not entirely sure. "I'm just asking for opinion as to what caused it to get this far. I'd never peg him for the type of person to..." he trails off, unsure how to word it in medical terms and Celty really wants to say something she shouldn't. "Well, overdose intentionally on morphine and self-harm as well. Though the scars are older and healed, they're markers of frequent injury judging by their color and the number. What I've read so far online is that self-harmers can be suicidal, but usually it calls for low self-esteem and I don't know if that word exists in Izaya's dictionary."

[Not funny, Shinra.] Celty punches his arm and he grunts, giving a tortured look to her and before he can ask why she's already typed an answer. [What's happened to Izaya is what is happening now. We don't know yet for sure, so don't leave anything out of it just because you don't see it happening. It's not like I understand any more than you do, but it's not fair to treat him like that.]

"I see, I see." Shinra rubs his arm, wincing while that nagging feeling still bothers him like a fly, buzzing around inside his head. "So, back to your theory. Anything on that?" He's genuinely curious by the way he pushes his tea aside and puts both elbows on the table, resting his head and focusing entirely on Celty. She knows he can see the blush that she can't stop and turns her head away when Shinra's goofy grin comes back to him.

[My thoughts are still the same.] Celty begins, carefully reconstructing her thoughts before she keeps going. [When I talked with him earlier, it confirmed what I was thinking. He's...I'm not sure how to describe it. But he does need help, and not just yours.]

"So, you got the full story from him? Tell me everything he said, I need to know." Shinra jumps at the opportunity of not having to face Izaya himself and find out when he doubts Izaya will tell him anything anyway and then Celty gets this strange frown on her face which usually means trouble and then the sinking feeling hits him square in the face like an uppercut from Shizuo. He suppresses the flinching recoil with one arm coming off the table and coming to rest on his pants, reminder coming to mind at high speed and skidding to a halt the moment when his fingers brush his pocket and little white paper with words written on it comes to mind. He chokes a gasp and firmly swallows, eyes darting while focused away from Celty as he tries to stop the thoughts from coming to him now.

[You'll have to ask him. I'm sorry, but...] Celty notices how Shinra isn't paying attention the moment his eyes flicker like when he usually gets lost in his mind. She reaches out a hand, poking him. [Are you alright?]

Shinra's eyes meet her and she immediately can see there's more than meets the eye. And it bothers her that it's gnawing at him and dampening the brightness she always sees in him and in the moment just because she doesn't care for reason, she pulls Shinra's hand down so his arm is lying on the table and threads her fingers with his. Before he can speak she's typing with one hand and the fingers of her other hand rest in his, comforting in the gentle touch.

[It's been a long day, but there's always tomorrow.] Shina reads her words and one of his goofy grins splits his face from the intensity and Celty doesn't pull her fingers away, surprising him even more and he continues smiling like a fool as the white paper doesn't seem all that horrifying anymore in the moments they're spending together. With Celty, he knows, he can always breathe a little better without an oxygen mask.

"My beloved Celty, you always know what to say." She flushes a crimson red and he chuckles when she pulls her fingers away and swats his hand. Of course she's declaring her love for him in the form of pain (she may or may not know that) but anything from Celty is always welcome for Shinra.

The atmosphere lighthearted and sweet, almost, turns darker and heavier like rain in Ikebukuro when the roll of thunder claps in the form of Shinra's next words. "As much as I enjoy having our time together, I do need to have a conversation with a certain patient." Not that he exactly wants to now or really any time in the near future when there are holes being burned into his pocket and he's still waiting for a reply to his email and pretending that not knowing what's wrong with Izaya isn't affecting him at all.

[It's okay. Tell him I said hello and ask if he wants anything to eat.] Celty stands, intent on heading to the kitchen with ideas swarming her head as to what to make and how. Shinra may or may not be amused by the thought of Izaya taste testing Celty's wonderful food. Although he does have all of his confidence in her to make anything her gentle heart desires.

"Actually, why don't you make him some soup broth? He may not eat now, but it'll be good to have on hand. I think we have everything, but you can find your own recipe." Shinra beams at her and embarrassment tumbles out of her neck in puffy strings of smoke. She nods though, grabbing Shinra's lukewarm teacup and taking it into the kitchen. She's pretty sure now he's not suspecting anything from their conversation concerning Izaya and hopes he doesn't ask when he noticed how she tried to keep herself to her promise to Izaya. Secrets are never anything she enjoys and she knows Izayas deals in that sort of business, but the thought makes her skin crawl when it comes to keeping things from her friends, especially Shinra.

"Celty," Shinra starts as he heads to the guest room but pauses, looking back and smiling gently with the same mischievous glint to his eyes. "You don't have to tell me what you wanted to say earlier if you're not ready yet. I don't mind." She's not going to know, he realizes, that his words are a two-way street and there's no stop sign to keep the thoughts barred from his head for long. Those two words he thinks he's spoken to Izaya don't feel like the ones curdling in his stomach right now and sting when Celty smiles at him with the concerned smile of hers. Why they choose to rise and churn in his stomach now is a mystery but probably related to having to talk to Izaya. He's the one who's doing this, so he shouldn't be feeling like this. Actually, he's not sure what to feel when it comes to this and he'd rather leave it to Celty because she knows what to do. She always does.

How he knows, Celty stares after him even after he's already excused himself into the guest room where Izaya is, she doesn't ever understand.

Something tells her there's more than meets the eye, going by the way she noticed Shinra dipping his fingers into his pocket and pulling out a white sliver that makes his fingers tremble. She doesn't ask yet but saves the question for later, heading to the fridge for ingredients of soup broth from a recipe she finds on her PDA. The question still bothers her, tethered to the back of her mind like a stubborn plant refusing to die in the shade despite how frail it seems.

She lets her mind wander for a moment, rinsing the teacup out—pale, thin fingers reaching out, grasping—how Izaya looks so frail in that cot comes back to her she wonders (are those eyes red because he was crying or because of the drugs) what he's going to say to Shinra, and if he's going to say anything remotely similar to what he's told Celty. She knows that he would never say something as vulnerable as their conversation earlier to just anyone and she doubts Shinra would get much information from him. She shakes her head to rid herself of the thought and just focus on making broth, the box of ootoro in the fridge reminds her of him, lying so frail in that cot when she first brought him back and fearing whether he was going to live or not. And now she feels the headache of over thinking coming, despite the fact she really doesn't have a head and the ache is more in her heart where she wonders on whim if Shizuo feels something similar judging by how it makes guilt sink and questions arise and everything for him, she realizes, is being questioned—from reason to emotions—no wonder he's not taking it well.

She'll have to apologize to him later when she sorts her own heart out. After she sorts out the dark things Shinra hasn't told her yet and she wonders why he keeps them from her.

Secrets, she decides, are not as they used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, no Izaya in this chapter. Where did he go? 
> 
> Next chapter is going to be stirring things up on 10/1.
> 
> Updates will now be every other week, especially to allow me to write other stories. (I've the final to the series called Mend, in which the final will be of the same name.)
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	5. On the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya is a creature of habit.

_~_

 

_...The edge of a knife is no different from the edge of the mind.  
_

   
He's not entirely sure how to start the conversation, so the words tumble out thoughtlessly when the door clicks shut behind him. "You know, Shizuo-kun's morals aren't as volatile as you heard. Everything's off, really, when you realize where we are now in terms of events." Shinra checks his chart he's written for Izaya, taking note of readings from the bedside monitor as he steps over to the cot. This is the silent agreement to what Shinra hopes hasn't happened but when he sees the shadow of doubt flicker across Izaya's expression he knows. They both know the answer to the question.

"...Why would I care." Izaya replies flatly, turning his head to his side and sighing in what's supposed to be sleepiness but it's more desperate than that and closer to something akin to disappointment. Shinra's probably over thinking this or Izaya hasn't stopped thinking. It's not like this is entirely new: the way they skirt around a subject that's more than particularly heavy but not willingly a part of conversation. His eyes are tired in the way they droop and his pupils are wider than normal from the pain medications he's on but Shinra is starting to convince himself (more so because of _that_ paper) there's more than he can see, which is confusing when it's hard to picture Izaya like this.

"Have you slept at all since this morning? Like after Celty talked to you?" Shinra takes Izaya's arm, making sure the IV is in the correct position before gently sliding the sleeve back down over the countless scars he doesn't mention now. "You really should be sleeping, considering how much damage you've taken." Red eyes glare as if they're daring Shinra to say it. It's creepy—he's absolutely _furious—_ considering how Izaya still looks menacing even though he can barely move. But Shinra thinks it's just something he's using to keep people away. Those red eyes do more than enough for most people, unlike someone he knows.

"I think you know the answer to that." Izaya winces when he tries to make his neck comfortable. Shinra steps in to adjust the pillow, ignoring Izaya's hard stare as he does. When there are plenty of other conversation topics they still have to get to, Shinra tells himself he'd rather start with this and pretends there's nothing that bothers him. Like it's just a simple cold; honest.

"Of course you overheard." Shinra sighs, running his fingers through his hair in an oddly familiar motion except this time it's more of having the puppy run over with a semi truck. His fingers shake like they're frostbitten and next to the edge of falling off or cracking and breaking like ice. Izaya's wry smile confirms anything left to doubt and it's akin to the feeling of guilt that settles in Shinra's chest. No, focus. Doctor and patient. Don't over complicate this.

Izaya turns his gaze away, staring out the window next to his bed. "It's hard not to hear the roar of a beast, Shinra. Although I'm entirely convinced you meant for me to hear Shizu-chan's mean words, ne?" Shinra notes the way Izaya's voice is barely in a teasing lilt, but more of a monotone. Medication contributes to most of his tired demeanor, but Shinra's knows the secrets all too well of this game.

"Your analysis of me was...amusing." Izaya murmurs, his trademark grin coming to place when the tsunami of grizzled thorns tighten and clench around his skull in a false crown and dig into the flesh crawling down his throat. Shinra's breath catches in his throat on an unexpected burr before he swallows it down when Izaya's nod follows in realizing he's hit a weak point which Shinra can easily bend to if he's uncomfortable enough. Easy, then. "So, have you decided to put down my symptoms on a piece of paper and send me off with medications?" The way he spits the words is bitter and they sting when they dig into Shinra's flesh but it's Izaya's normal way of talking, he knows.

"Do I need to explain again then, Izaya?" Shinra's joke is just as sour but the look in his eyes over his glasses is crafted seriousness, in an isolated type of fashion. Just as his training requires him to do in dehumanizing patients enough to not allow emotional response in his line of work. Izaya already knows this from his countless observations of people, and Shinra is no different from the rest. So predictable.

"Mm, go ahead." Izaya counters as a hidden challenge which really doesn't differ from a monopoly of pushing away, pulling in those who try to get to him and then cutting them out. Like printed cutouts of coloring pages except the scissors skew more than enough times to mutilate the entire picture and force withdrawal to hide the broken parts. "I didn't quite catch the full thing, being drugged an' all." he says before his eyes flicker to Shinra to confirm that this is in fact a challenge. He knows with an arrogant certainty that of course Shinra's going to take the challenge he's proposing (as drugged and hazy he is and how uncomfortable it is to be unable to think clearly) which eventually will turn out to be a game of his own amusement, playing his cards right. And everyone involved falls, of course, and then he can go back to watching his humans from afar as their rightful god. Even if he hurts now he'll tell himself that it doesn't exist until his mind stops hitching and dulling in bouts of heaviness that aren't physical which he first believed to be chest pains of an incoming heart attack, though evidence proved otherwise.

Shinra's fingers twitch toward his pocket. Interesting. The way a hardened rock of ugly emotions (left over from some desperately stupid slip of control by morphine) lodges itself in the back of his throat is ignored by the both of them and fleetingly he wonders if Shinra ever notices such petty subtleties. "What I was explaining to Shizuo-kun and Celty is that I understand the extent of your physical injuries as severe and warrant assisted living conditions, which I have already arranged." Izaya doesn't like where this is going the moment those words tumble out of Shinra's mouth but when he tries to voice something, anything, nothing comes out except for a shuddering sigh barely a whisper of air and it's demeaning to realize how helpless he is right now. "Shizuo-kun and I have agreed that you will, for the time being until I determine you fit to live by yourself, will be under the care of him. I know you're not enjoying the thought of it, and I'm certain you've heard Shizuo's protesting earlier, but we've already discussed this."

Izaya's eyes sharpen. "You're goin' to...make me live with that _monster?_ An' not even include me in the final details of anything even though _I_ ' _m_ the one who's affected by your decisions?" he scoffs, clearly unamused despite the lack of expression change with Shinra, usually meaning the doctor's attempting to be serious for once and there isn't much room to argue when Izaya's incapacitated and nearly strapped to a hospital cot by long, winding fingers of tubes and wires that creep and attempt to strangle him—the notion is ridiculous but his brain doesn't understand the difference—and the room starts to feel too cramped with Shinra's words pressing into every corner and squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He really needs to _breathe_ although the air evades every pitiful shallow grasp his lungs claw for. Beside him the bedside monitor chirps a higher pitch of a click that grates his ears like sandpaper inside his skull trapped above his brain and itching, rubbing the pink flesh raw. Shinra's face blurs with the rest of the blue-green room walls, becoming some ugly shade of brown that he's only seen one time before staring into the monster of Ikebukuro's dangerous gaze. That time he laughed at how pathetic Shizu-chan was, but this time he's not sure whether or not he's going to vomit.

"Hey, hey, Izaya—" Shinra starts the moment he sees Izaya's face contort in a strange look of pain and nausea but Izaya's stopped listening and focusing on not looking like an idiot, if he doesn't already. Shinra's fingers grasp his wrist, trying to anchor him back in reality while he dazes off, not really sure if he's recalling a flashback or remembering how to sleep without drugs when his vision starts failing. His chest twists and warps with the familiar feeling of his lungs collapsing into ash.

"Izaya, you're hyperventilating. Listen to me." Shinra leans forward and taps the nasal cannula Izaya hates, snapping his fingers over Izaya's dazed eyes to gain his attention which is only for seconds. Izaya doesn't notice the way Shinra swallows like a rock has caught in his throat and the twitch of his other hand to his pocket. "Don't worry. You're going to be fine. The pain medications have side effects like nausea, so just breathe deeply."

Shaking he counts the seconds ticking by as he inhales, chest rising with a tightness welling into a ball that _hurts_ and he just feels so utterly lifeless, like a doll tossed to the ground and waiting to be stepped on as if dying will solve all his problems.

A shame it didn't work then.

"W-Why..." Izaya chokes out, swallowing excess saliva from the nausea and grimacing when it only serves to make his stomach churn even more—did Shinra force him to eat something—and he feels desperate enough to make himself throw up if it'll stop the slick sweat—sometimes he would sit in his apartment, stomach churning consuming only angry thoughts swarming his head and digging deeper with hooks to pierce and make the urge to scream all too tangible in the haze of a drug overdose and what felt like years of an empty stomach quiet from finally succumbing to blunt force trauma. He's so stupid; stupid, stupid, _stupid_ for passing out before he died and went to whatever came after the end. It isn't like him to be so careless in how he calculates (the irony) of his self-murder so his brain will just _shut up_ and the buzzing—screaming—chaos will stop forcing him awake at night.

"Why did I keep you alive?" Shinra seems to know exactly what Izaya's asking even when he's next to having a full blown anxiety attack the way his pupils swallow the blood of his irises and his face is flushed with sweat and forced humiliation that's somehow twisted its way in like a dagger and when he pulls the blood will come out but it doesn't ever budge so he feels like there's a weight settled in between his ribs the moment his heart stopped beating. "I think you know why."

Izaya tosses his head (finally getting his breathing under control but he trembles in the way Shinra notices too much) to the side and rolls his eyes, counting—shaking like a leaf—the times he notices Shinra reach for his pocket. His head is full of questions swimming in a medicinal cocktail and he's not drunk enough if he's going to be under the influence. Shinra, he doesn't realize yet, has questions bursting at the seams of his brain already under pressure from _everything_ that's happened. Both of them really don't know why.

"What I'm not sure about is a lot of things, to be honest." Shinra starts, removing his fingers from Izaya's wrist and unaware of the burning indent he's left behind. Izaya hates being touched because fingers brand his skin with half-truths and saltwater lies but they don't sting as much as he did as a child. Useless is what it is when he wants ( _more)_ in the confusion of needing ( _less)_. Shinra clears his throat again, Izaya hears the chalky buildup of residue leftover from pretending to care and he can only smile bitterly to himself.

"You...want answers, you find out for yours'lf. I don' give information for free." Izaya slurs and snaps at himself for the lack of discipline. The cutting edge of his voice makes up for the lack of a blade pressed against throats while the carotid artery pounds into the flesh, wanting.

"Of course." Shinra surprisingly agrees. He can analyze it but doesn't prefer to when he can't be assured he's right. One of those things that keeps him awake at night because his brain _never_ shuts off. "So I'll have to wait for you to tell me, or I can wait. Like I said, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, but it'd be better if I could get something from you."

Izaya scoffs but it comes out as a muffled growl that tapers into a sigh. When he doesn't speak but turns his eyes away it's an invitation for something that keeps the edge to the conversation Shinra's close to walking off and falling, crashing down until the light's not there anymore. Shinra prods carefully. "So, first, what led to...last night?"

"You alrea'y know." Izaya's voice dips into a quieter tone, so unlike him Shinra reassures himself like he does when Celty's angry (she will always love him) that this is Izaya, just not the one he's used to.

"Morphine overdose, gotcha." Shinra's eyes follow the curving of the scar he noticed earlier that trails into Izaya's elbow. "You were in a severe amount of pain, next to delirious or you wouldn't have taken three times the normal limit." Izaya cracks a toothless smile, lips pressing tightly together.

"Not quite. More like sitting in the same spot, unable to move and focusing on how to stop feeling everything at once." Izaya stumbles over certain words when the soft hiss of 's' falls slack on his tongue more than once. "I doubt you know what 'm talkin' about, not hearing the noise."

"What noise?" Immediately possible diagnoses come to mind. Intracranial hemorrhaging, damaged eardrums, possible bits of bone striking into the vulnerable mass of Izaya's brain—utterly fatal if left alone for too long—to the concussion being more serious than he thought, drowning in complications mixed with blood.

Izaya's deadpan is haunting in the manner that it still reverberates the moments he's finished speaking and for the rest of the day. "The noise that comes with being dead."

He pauses, unsure of what Izaya's making this out to be. "What're you getting at?"

"Not as in physical death, Shinra." Izaya waves a hand, jolting when the IV shifts and scratches the inside of his vein. "The type of death that comes when people want to die. I've watched so many, wondering how in their little heads they could possibly come to such a stupid decision. An' now, I can feel my brain decomposing. It's like a disease an' it's the only one I don't know anythin' about."

They both fall silent. Shinra processes the confession and begins to realize with a sinking suspicion that this, everything he's thought up to now so far is an understatement. The way Izaya watches him with an analytical stare reminds him sharply with a rasping annoyance that there's something he wants to get to but won't start just yet because there's another hurdle he's—admittedly—afraid of jumping. Or getting anywhere near, when he knows the answer isn't going to be pretty so there should be nothing he's afraid of when he's seen it all before but never applied it to now when his old high school—non-acquaintance (they're not really sure and he doubts Izaya cared then or now) is lying like a paper doll tattered and wrapped so he doesn't fall apart like they always do under heavy rain.

"...Well then. Moving on," Shinra starts to come up with another question when he feels the tenseness of the room shift to weigh him down and pierce his lungs. "Uh, I—Considering your... _unique_ situation, I spoke with Shizuo-kun earlier while my dearest Celty was with you. We, as in the both of us, agreed that it would be best for you to be under his care as you continue on with treatment."

A cackle erupts from Izaya, closing his eyes as the first raspy laugh clogs his throat and stings his eyes while his body trembles from the force. "Me? With Shizu-chan? You're not still joking, right? You're an excellent doctor, Shinra, but if you keep kidding like that you'll start to scare Celty."

Shinra purses his lips, sighing. "Not kidding, Izaya. I know it sounds impossible, but it's happening. Shizuo suggested it, if that helps. He won't be attempting to kill you as far as I know."

Izaya laughs again, the sound bitter and harsh when Shinra chooses to listen to it and read the expressions flickering on Izaya's face. "An' how would you know? Shizu-chan hates me as much as I hate him."The odd twist, barely noticeable in Izaya's voice, is picked up by Shinra easily. He's getting better at finding when he knows what to look for.

"He doesn't." Shinra dismisses the claim, not waiting to witness Izaya's raised eyebrow and malicious grin when he goes to open his mouth and prove him wrong, although Shinra stops him before he can. "Not, at least, the way you think he does. Ask him to explain; I'm not getting any more involved in this."

Izaya shot him an indignant glare. "How would I ask him to explain? What are you planning, Shinra?" The overall effect of his regular glare is promptly killed by the nasal cannula that makes Izaya look more like a patient than a megalomaniac. Shinra tries to hide the smile of amusement with his sleeve, but it doesn't stop Izaya from noticing and grumbling unhappily to himself.

"How are you feeling?" Shinra switches the subject, feeling guilt starting to creep up the back of his throat in the silence that followed their previous conversation. Izaya, with eyes focusing on the ceiling, slowly turns his attention to Shinra, but keeping his gaze staring straight ahead, avoiding.

"'m fine." he yawns, feeling the cold sensation reminiscent of the taste of mint beginning to settle at the back of his throat with the next round of medication mixing into his IV. Shinra nods, moving to check the condition of Izaya's arm and cast, making sure the plaster is set correctly while Izaya watches lazily.

"Is the cast too tight, or too loose?" Shinra asks, using his fingers to gauge the tightness of the material and deeming it at the correct position. Izaya nods, more to himself than to answer Shinra as he recedes into his mind again and the smirking sarcasm leaves his face; a neutral frown resting with the controlled breaths rising and falling from his chest. The rest of the examination continues in silence, Shinra noting time to time with a glance that Izaya's eyes are beginning to droop and his head rests to the side, eyes barely covering the red glittering beneath like warning lights for airplanes. He wonders what Shizuo sees in them, besides the mask of emptiness that Shinra always sees whenever Izaya's his normal self. Even now, it's still there, despite its appearance of worse for wear.

Shinra shifts the blankets, moving to recheck the leg cast as he did with Izaya's left arm, glancing back in habit to Izaya who hasn't moved at all, looking more and more asleep with each time Shinra spares him a look before he pulls away, deeming both casts to be in working order and tucking the blankets (carefully, knowing he's too rough when Izaya hisses as Shinra lifts his leg) back in.

"Stay awake for a moment, Izaya." Shinra taps Izaya's right hand, earning the informant's groggy attention as the drugs start to seep into his brain and the fog begins to cover everything and leave him useless while he waits until it clears and he can think again. He's always hated mind-altering drugs, feeling out of control is never something he can enjoy like the drug abusers on the streets. He doesn't understand how they can, or why they want to. It's more of a human thing, he supposes.

Fingers slide underneath his hair, forcing him to freeze when Shinra touches him and suppress the flinch that follows in the place of hiding a human urge he hasn't felt since he was a child. Eyes open, don't close them—this is Shinra, not that idiotic protozoan crushing his skull or the gang that—

"Is your head hurting at all? Any double vision or vertigo?" Shinra's fingers brushed against a painful lump, earning a hiss as Izaya jerks forward and only worsens the dull throb in his head to stab insistently against his skull. He would shake his head but considering the pain starting to spread throughout his brain Izaya settled for a dull murmur assuring Shinra (himself, really) he's fine. Nothing wrong with being strapped to a bed and sitting pretty like a chicken for slaughter and sluggish for when the time comes. He wonders, then, what the execution will be like when his own has failed. A darker corner of his mind considers that it is for the gratification of killing Izaya instead of letting him do it himself. Of course that's the only one that makes any sense, despite the inane nature of the thought.

"You know, I couldn't tell accurately whether or not you had broken bones, because the usual heat of inflammation was not present when Celty brought you in." Shinra starts and the curious thing is he isn't looking at Izaya when he mentions the odd fact. In fact, he's looking everywhere but at Izaya. And when Izaya continues to stare at him, blankly focusing with a bored stare Shinra continues. "Your body weight was— _is_ so low that the regular increased temperature was completely absent, or simply unidentifiable because I could easily mistake it for your regular body temperature."

"And...?" Izaya drawls, the look in his folded eyes foretelling of what he knows Shinra's going to say like he's reading Shinra's thoughts exactly and he's already expecting this conversation.

"And," Shinra repeats, "I'm wondering why you're like this. This isn't like you, Izaya." he tacks on quietly at the end but it still makes Izaya's eyes sharpen to dagger points, despite the influence of drugs.

"What about anything that's happened...has been like me? Because I don't know the answer to that either...if there is one." Izaya refutes, the slurring in his voice growing stronger with the return of his pauses from the root cause of pain medications skewing his brain's fine motor skills. "Get to the point, Shinra. I don't have...time to play around the issue. I know what...you're going to ask, so get to it." he snaps, groaning softly when another stab at his brain leaves him exhaling sharply from the shock wave it produces.

"Why. The question I wanted to ask is why. Why do this to yourself?" He reaches for the paper in his pocket that cripples his brain with a sharp ache, bringing painful reminders edging to the surface when he remembers there are words written on the paper and it's not just a piece of trash but a confession of sorts that isn't directed at him entirely although the words sting with each character written so nonchalantly to describe the logic in killing one's self.

"Why not?" Like a game Izaya plays it off as simple as that and the initial spike of anger that surges through Shinra's veins is completely justified until the moment that he calms himself and recognizes this as one of Izaya's defense methods. He can talk about killing himself with such nonchalance Shinra's beginning to wonder if the other is human, but from his limited knowledge even he knows that there's something wrong with Izaya's brain, rather than him—he focuses himself, reminds himself that this is Izaya he's talking to and of course he's going to be difficult and try to press his buttons to make him (and everyone else that's ever tried) back away so he can hide the pain until it's manageable.

That, he believes, is more pitiful than the way Izaya smiles with a smirk that twists his lips but doesn't ever reach his eyes. The smiles Shinra's ever seen have never been for the genuine purpose, but rather as a default setting.

"Izaya, there's a reason for everything. Even if you think it's pointless." Shinra runs a hand through his hair out of habit. Izaya's lips purse as if he's seriously considering the question but his shoulders tremble like he's holding in laughter that stung his throat and a tortured sound escapes his mouth and hangs between them. Shinra knows, the way Izaya pauses—rigid, body taught and ready for flight or fight—not to say anything. What he's done is confirm for both of them a little more than Izaya can share when he's himself and difficult as entailed.

"So you say." Izaya then murmurs when the silence settles between them again and his hazy thoughts are too jumbled and too crowded so he speaks because he can't tolerate sorting out his brain at the moment. "An' what led you to that conclusion?"

Shinra gives him a blatant stare, questioning silently (really?) if Izaya's realizing how easy it is to know what his thoughts are when they stream across his eyes already emptied and Shinra can pick up the denial that keeps the light bright and angry like fire. The flames lick and crawl upward and destroy everything they touch and the similarities are striking in how Izaya looks burned out like a forest in the heat of summer. He sighs, and it's not been a good thing when he does. "This."

Unfolding it, the small scrap of paper becomes much larger, about the a third of the size of Shinra's palm, somehow neatly folded over and over again to be the size of his fingernail. The words are unmistakeable and he silently holds the paper for Izaya to recognize, his thoughts coming through floodgates in screaming whirlwinds that build up the guilt to a tangible grip on his brain, dragging down past his throat into his trachea so it can grip onto him, curling the salty sting of guilt into raw flesh.

Izaya doesn't even react. He just stares, and the lazy smile is back again. "Oh, you found that." he remarks, as if talking about the weather and turns his head to the side, unaffected.

Something hot and piercing echoes throughout Shinra's circulatory system when Izaya's just playing off everything as twisted mind game. Focus, Shinra. Don't play along. "You and I both know what this is. Care to explain?" he's breathless but professional and hates the way Izaya can see through him with that bored stare of his.

"'t's a note, Shinra." Iaya rolls his eyes but doesn't meet Shinra's. "What about it?" Drugs kick in harshly and he's feeling even more tired while the IV line feeds him more drugs and he has the fleeting urge to rip it out of his arm and stab Shizuo with it in frustration. Oh wait, that idiot hates him (like he doesn't already know that, what's Shinra so shifty for) and he left because he can't (wait, did he—) fathom murdering Izaya. It's not like they both don't want Izaya to die. Shizuo can easily take him down now he's bedridden, just have his fingers slip around his throat like so many times in the past Izaya wonders if Shizuo will make him suffer. He should.

"No, it's not 'just' a note." Shinra stresses. "It's _your_ note, if I'm right. And—"

"—It mentions something that bothers you, ne? Then get rid of it an' stop making a fuss." Izaya stretches and winces while Shinra glares, fingers tightly gripping the paper.

"Would you stop that?" the doctor snaps, crinkling the paper in his fingers. "This isn't just some small issue, Izaya. This is you, and the reason why you're sitting here instead of off doing what you normally do. And surprisingly, Celty and I—mainly Celty, though, happen to care about you enough to keep you from killing yourself. This isn't like you—that's what's been bothering me ever since your surgeries this morning. So if you could just give me something, or anything to help me understand, it would be useful."

"How touching." Izaya croons, never looking up from the floor. "I don't give information for free, Shinra. You know that by now."

"Are you suggesting I should have just let you die?" The words slip out faster than Shinra realizes what he's done and it's too late to take them back when they make Izaya's head snap toward him, red eyes blazing in drugged heat. The knowing look haunts the shadow of his expression when it's neutral and Shinra's starting to see past this mind game. (Although he wonders if it's too late.)

"Ne, I didn't think you'd actually catch on." Izaya's voice is too calm and lulling—trying, to convince himself that he's fine. Shutting down. "You should have. That's what I meant to do myself."

The world spins and the room plummets below freezing—at least, that's how Shinra feels it. The manner of Izaya's speaking makes everything sound like a joke and he's not sure how to respond when his head is spinning and the thick sludge sticking to his throat prevents anything from coming out when he does and the memory of Izaya lying in the same bed, eyes bright and cheeks wet—slams into him full speed. He stops, piece of paper fluttering onto the bed—passing on the flame. Fingers tremor even after they're curled into a fist.

At that moment, Izaya does too.

Like he knows.

"I won't mention it." Shinra says, gauging Izaya's reaction while those eyes (danger, danger) stare back at him. "Shizuo-kun will be taking you home after tomorrow if there are no complications." Clearing his throat he changes the conversation and decides bitterly that it's enough for today and Izaya's not going to cooperate any more than usual, especially with drugs. If anything they make him—everything more complicated and the emotional toll is astoundingly frustrating. Shinra knows he shouldn't care too much but when he can't help the unconscious pity (Izaya knows. He hates it.) he tells himself he just doesn't feel like being his usual aloof self. Everything's feeling off lately.

"Get some rest, Izaya-kun." Shinra turns, leaving. The way the door clicks behind him sounds like an excuse when Izaya doesn't speak again.

They both figure it's for the best.

_~_

"Ah, good to hear from you Shizuo-kun." Shinra chirps cheerfully, tapping on his laptop keyboard while Celty watches an alien documentary. One eye stays on her (how could he miss any opportunity to gaze upon his beloved Celty?) and watches as she jumps, shaking when a fictional alien picture comes onscreen.

"What? No, I haven't said anything. Why would I?" Shinra smiles to himself, hearing Shizuo's anger seep through the phone and into his ears with a growl. "No, no. I told you—oh, what's that?"

A smile twists his lips. Looks like Shizuo's starting to see things his way, he hopes. Well, he's probably seeing it as retribution for being framed for beating Izaya up—he's just not going to let that go, is he? "Well, tomorrow he'll be ready to go if you want to do that early. Just have to make sure he's doing well and—yeah, I know. I'll be crafting his treatment plans tonight. Now...yes, I know, Shizuo-kun."

Celty turns away from the TV and types a question, holding it up silently. [Is that Shizuo?] He nods in confirmation, listening to the voice on the other side of the phone.

"Now, it's probably going to be difficult, knowing him..." Shinra nods to himself, listening. "I know, you're only doing this because I'm paying you. Don't get too cocky, Shizuo-kun. Do I need to inform your employer—Calm down, it's fine if you haven't yet."

Celty stares, head cocked to the side and trying to connect the dots as to what Shinra's talking about. She knows it's related to Shizuo, but could he possibly...?

"I'll let him know. Text me his phone number, would you? Or would you rather tell him yourself? Yes, I'll remember to pay him as well. I know you're sacrificing a lot and I appreciate it on his behalf." he chuckles when Shizuo starts ranting again and can see his plans unfolding perfectly with every confirmation he's getting. His brain's demanding he go to sleep but his eyes refuse so he's been up, getting arrangements made and spending his day—relaxing, too—with his beautiful, wonderful, and powerful Celty. Ah, his heart flutters in mention of her name.

"Sorry, what's that?" Shinra realizes Shizuo's actually saying something important and has to reluctantly pull away from his beautiful reminiscing even though the most beautiful woman in the world is staring at him. He waves, just to make her blush and blows a kiss. "Okay, are you sure for tomorrow? I can have Celty demonstrate what you need to do..." he stops, clicking on a new message in his email from one important recipient, scanning through.

"Ah, yes." he hums to himself while his day just keeps getting better, even if it's at a snail's pace. "I've got a meeting tomorrow with someone, so I'll have Celty show you what you need to do, since I'll be traveling out of Ikebukuro for the day. They live far, okay? Oh no fair, give me a break." Celty shoots him another questioning glance and he beams, holding up a finger to ask her to wait. He hates being rude like that when Celty deserves only the best but he's got to finish this call first and the email before him. The cellphone slips into his collarbone, held up to his ear by his shoulder and he begins typing while talking.

"Well, I'm happy to see you've come around to the idea. Of course—first payment tomorrow. Make sure to remind your employer since you want to... Just tell him whatever you think's necessary. N—Yes, I realize that saying that isn't exactly something you would normally say. Look, do I need to explain? I can call him. Alright, you just tell him that you need to take care of a sick relative for a while. Concerning his progress, he should be able to be left alone for periods at a time when his leg and arm heal, so that's a couple months."

Shizuo suddenly stops, realizing he's forgotten something and then the rustling of papers and several growled curses echo in the phone. "Oh, he's going to visit family in a week? That's not bad at all. How long will he be gone? Well, that's not long, but it gives you less to worry about. Calm down, Shizuo-kun, you'll be fine—Yes, I know. Alright." His fingers type to the email he's composing on his computer, rereading the lines of the email to craft what he's going to say.

"Okay, thank you Shizuo-kun. Celty and I appreciate it. And I bet he does too—Try not to kill each other, or really, you kill him." Shinra jokes with dark humor, letting it seep from the guilty black threads tied to his trachea and Shizuo stops, but remarks that Shinra's humor, as always, is horrible. (Not because it's about Izaya or anything. He's just doing this for the money, and for Tom's payment added in the deal.) Shinra actually wonders what he and Shizuo discussed earlier is what makes the blond change his mind. Well, whatever works and he won't think too much more about it until he can observe like any scientist. The theory has stuck with him since high school and it's exciting to actually test it.

"'kay. See you tomorrow, Shizuo-kun." With that he hangs up, grinning to himself like an idiot while Celty is more preoccupied with him than the terrifying images on TV that don't bother him as much. "Ah, Celty my darling! Guess who that was?"

[Shizuo? What were you two talking about?] She has suspicions, but just to be sure, especially with that somewhat creepy grin Shinra's sporting like his lips are about to split.

"Well, my dear Celty, that was Shizuo-kun, and he's agreed to take on Izaya for us. Tomorrow I'll have you show him what to do since you don't have any work, because I've got to meet up with an old friend of mine for the day. And I should be back by tomorrow night, so I can let Izaya go with Shizuo-kun." his beaming, if anything at all, just gets brighter. Celty's starting to question his sanity at times like this.

[Okay...So, how did Shizuo...just agree to that?] It sounds utterly confusing, realizing how completely out of character it sounds of him. Then her mind turns down a darker path, wondering exactly what bribery Shinra's employed.

"It was easy, my dearest Celty. All I had to do was mention paying him and his employer, and a little conversation we had earlier." Shinra looks positively evil and Celty resists the urge to shudder. This is definitely Shinra, she tells herself with a silent sigh.

[So now what do we do?] she types, but she's already expecting the answer.

"We wait for tomorrow, my beloved Celty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, and finally on time. My work schedule has been so messed up, I've not had any time to put together actual schedules. Well, this is finally up and anticipating where things start coming into play next chapter.
> 
> Also, Mend and a couple other works will be updated soon, as I'm finishing up editing and writing so thank you for your patience.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	6. Until Death Takes You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the calm before the storm that catches people off guard.

_~_

 

_...We don't know each other until we're dead._

  
[Where are you going again?] Celty types a little after six in the morning as Shinra packs his laptop in a carrier bag.

"I'll be meeting with an old friend of mine who specializes in mental illness instead of physical ones like me. But it's only for today." Shinra beams at her with a winning smile and she has to look away to not smile at the intensity of it and laugh at how goofy he is.

[Why so early? And what takes all day?] The question has been on her mind all night, meaning she hasn't slept at all because she's been wondering how to put it together to make it sound like she's not desperate and certainly not angry at him for leaving. But Shinra and his confusing nature add to a strange cocktail of questions that will keep on coming.

"She lives across Japan, and considering the importance of it, I decided that we should meet in real life instead of over webcam." Shinra realizes what he's said and stops, suddenly sputtering, "W-Well, she certainly isn't as beautiful as you, my beloved Celty. You're the only one for me, so don't lose faith in me!" Celty ducks her head to stifle a silent chuckle, shoulders shaking the only Shinra can make her laugh at how silly and sincere he is. (Just for her, too.)

[Don't worry, I know you love me, Shinra.] His ears turn a brilliant red that matches the shade of his face before he quickly turns and mutters something intelligible even to her. She doesn't think she's missing much, oh no; not the way his face burns and he's probably trying to tell himself to act cool because he's not a student anymore. It's always an interesting spectacle of watching Shinra around her, one she's never wanted to miss.

"So, you have the list I wrote down for you and Shizuo-kun?" He changes the subject quickly and turns back to her, bag slung over his shoulder and pushing his glasses up his nose. He'd rather not make Celty do his job for him but seeing as she's the graceful woman she is he should have known she'd ask to help out (but it means he can get to more, so what's the harm in that) and hopes this isn't too much for her. Celty's a strong woman though; _his,_ to be exact.

[Yeah. Here.] She conjures up the list from her sleeve, in Shinra's messy handwriting with an abnormal amount of similarities to chicken scratch. [Do I need to see if you've missed anything?]

Shinra pauses, thinking to himself momentarily before he replies. "You can read it to me, see if I missed something. I'll go over my things and make sure I'm not forgetting something." Celty nods, and then she starts tapping out the first things to do. Shinra's already checked on Izaya, sleeping in the guest room and knows there's too much potential energy for chaos as he starts to wean off of the drugs. It'll be a while until then but his personality always has a way of rebounding quickly.

[1. Before Shizuo arrives, Izaya should be awake. If he is, see if he's in any pain as he'll need another dosage of pain medications and other drugs that I've already laid out in order in the drawer closest to the door on the top level. If not, try and hold back on them until after he's eaten something like broth. Don't give him any solid foods or water until he's had broth.] she types, thinking after she does by the way her index finger taps on the edge of her PDA. Shinra reads over the typing, nodding to himself and going over his thoughts to make sure he's not forgetting something.

"You're wondering why I said not to give him water yet?" Shinra guesses accurately. "Well, it's only within an hour of waking. I don't want him to fill up on water before he has the chance to eat, so no water for him until he's at least tried some broth, which has it. Don't worry." he tags on his concern for Celty who is slightly puzzled though she nods and starts typing again.

[2. If you can get Izaya to drink at least a cup of broth—I don't expect him to drink much as his stomach has the very real possibility of being shrunken and not all at once—just keep talking to him. Don't let him sit by himself even if he doesn't. Shizuo's going to be over at noon, so you can keep Izaya busy until you need to show Shizuo what he has to do.] This one's even more strange and she's sure there's explanation behind it.

"Sounds about right." Shinra speaks mainly to himself, pondering while he goes through his shoulder bag. "She said not to leave him alone after he's eaten, or for any long periods at all. I'll explain after she does to me, but it's kind of confusing to me, too. And she said he might be angry or in a bad mood, which doesn't sound possible, but I take her word for it." Celty's confused as she doesn't know much of anything about Izaya's condition herself so she just listens to what Shinra says for lack of better judgment. She trusts him.

[3. Find something to do to keep him engaged. You'll have to update his medications again at 9 by IV (top drawer, underneath first row) but he has to drink broth at least by this point so we can start him on pills instead of IV soon. Also – if he at any time starts to space out, keep talking to him. Do not let him go too far, or he may experience an anxiety attack. The bedside monitor will usually let you know if his heart rate is accelerating too quickly. If he does, just distract him until he calms down.] This sounds so unlike Izaya Celty's wondering if they're talking about the same person. Anxiety attack? Izaya? She never thought she'd hear his name anywhere near something like that, let alone in the same paragraph.

The reality is—it's exactly who they're talking about—confusing. Everything's been shaken up like a miniature world inside one of those souvenirs—a snow globe, and the glitter's starting to come down.

"I've got to get going, I trust you know what to do, my beloved Celty." Shinra glances at the clock—6:30, he's got ten minutes until his train leaves and he couldn't possibly ask Celty to drive him so far. "I'll see you tonight, so take care of yourself while I'm gone, my dearest. Text me if you need anything." he coos, avoiding a swift punch to the shoulder and waves as he heads over to the door. Celty types a goodbye he stops to read with hearts in his eyes (how he does that she's not sure) and leaves with a final shut of the front door,

Suddenly her phone buzzes and she thinks it's Shizuo. It's not. [ _Let's hope this works out for the better, huh? Good luck and I'll miss you._ ]

She considers not texting back, but decides to out of the kindness of her heart, she tells herself why she feeds his habits of being such a dork. [Me too. Behave yourself.] Ignores the way her heart flutters and brushes it off as an excuse of being too early in the morning to be awake on her day off.

Buzz. [ _Love you too._ ]

She's not blushing. Honest. It's just a little warm in here.

But if she really tries to play it off as that, she's a horrible liar.

Heading over to the guest room she decides to check on Izaya who was sleeping when Shinra checked on him an hour ago now, so she'll just make sure if he's awake or not. Mentally she's kind of preparing, hoping that Izaya's not worse than he was or has some horrible infection (alien abduction? No—don't go down that road) and she's not really sure how her employer _ever_ is because he's an enigma she hasn't taken the time to try and understand. In the past, she's just shrugged it off as it's simply how he is, especially with his shady business that usually made everyone hate him with the games he plays. Now her head's swimming, churning salty water overflowing with questions and thoughts and theories (besides conspiracy theories) that don't make much sense but somehow they do and that's more frustrating than the thoughts themselves.

Switching on the voice function Celty enters the guest room, able to see in the slowly increasing light of sunlight filtering in the room from the blinds. The lump on the cot known as Izaya barely moves except for the rise and fall of the blanket, covered in the stale light of the bedside's green monitor. For several moments she's not sure if Izaya's awake, judging by how little he moves.

"Mm, what...'s it?" The noise startles her, realizing only after she's nearly jumped out of her shadows that it's only Izaya. She sees his red eyes, glancing at her from the side and reflecting eerily in the filtered light.

Fumbling fingers press a message onto her PDA, and then it chirps with the female monotone. ["I came to see how you were doing. Sorry if I woke you up."]

Izaya breathes through his nose in a sigh, shifting and suppressing a flinch when pain ripples up his spine in jagged spikes that form like stalactites in his blood vessels, seeping into his muscles and clutching damaged bone from his broken leg to his throbbing skull. "'m fine. Jus' tired." A lazy wave confirms this, hand flopping at his uninjured wrist before he hisses something and sets it down. Celty considers asking further, deciding to head over to him after she turns on the lights. The bright light makes Izaya look away with a soft groan, slinging his right arm over his eyes and cringing from the burning in his corneas.

["Sorry about that."] Celty quickly apologizes. Izaya mumbles something incoherent and she assumes he doesn't care much. ["Would you like me to let you sleep some more? You don't look very awake."]

"I am now." Izaya yawns, shifting carefully with his stiff muscles as much as he could, which happens to be very little room to move in. "What time 's it?"

["Almost seven. It hasn't been long since you fell asleep yesterday."] Truth is Izaya passed out (giving Shinra a near heart attack) during Izaya's concussion examination to check for any internal bleeding when he succumbed to pain medication and the substantial injuries his body's attempting to heal without food. Oh, that reminds Celty of something. ["By the way, are you hungry at all? You haven't really eaten anything and you've only had a nutrient IV attachment. Shinra asked me to make you some broth, so there's some if you'd like."]

The look she receives in return isn't as kind as she could've hoped for. Well, this is Izaya after all. "Not hungry." he mumbles, turning his head away and falling silent once again. The dismissal is characteristic of his normal behavior (which always manages to irritate Celty a little more) but she remembers her tasks.

["You do need to eat sometime during today, even if it's not now. It's the only way Shinra's going to discharge you."] Well, it's not the full truth but it's a good motivator if need be and so what if she's exaggerating just a tad to get what she needs. Izaya needs to eat, anyway, if he wants to be out of the bed he's been lying in. But she doubts he's at all thrilled to be spending his time with Shizuo, telling by the glare he shoots like clockwork at her and his face twitches into a frown.

"I don't need his help. A monster will only make me worse." he replies darkly, unblinking as he spits the words like venom. It's a strange expression that crosses his face and spreads like wildfire in the summer heat, blistering and frightening all at the same time to anyone unused to the heat of intensity only Izaya can present in malice directed at Shizuo. She knows how much Shizuo frustrates Izaya to no end, having heard most—if not all—of his rants about her friend for being unreadable, as she's gathered from what Izaya's spouted during their meetings of accepting a job and by the time he's ranting she's taken that somehow he gets himself riled up thinking about Shizuo, which is interesting considering that he constantly insists Shizuo doesn't bother a god like himself.

Maybe she shouldn't say anything, but her good nature makes her want to defend Shizuo when he can't himself as he isn't here. ["He's not really that bad..."] The message doesn't translate well as how she means to say it, and Izaya isn't convinced at all. His glare shifts to the floor, knowing how trapped he is and having no means to make a decision. Both of them know why.

"I hate monsters. I can only love humans." Izaya blinks slowly, murmuring edgily and tapping his fingers of his right hand on the blanket. His chest rises and falls, slowing to a more even pace that makes Celty question if he's falling asleep again.

["I'm not human."] she types, tentatively for some unknown reason that feels like sympathy and clutches like curiosity to vines of threads dangling from thoughts in her head as to why two people could hate each other so much. Izaya's eyes snap up at the monotone and a sly smile crosses his face and she tells herself it's real the way his teeth bare almost like an animal in a way that's crossing the line of friendly and into uncomfortable territory. (What is he thinking?)

"Well, you're jus' like me, Celty." he doesn't laugh when he replies in a coy tone, used for business and teasing like he knows something she doesn't. It's frustrating when he teases because it usually means trouble and she hates being involved in his schemes. But—wait—Didn't he say Shizuo isn't human? What's that supposed to mean when he's just said that he isn't human just like her? So, maybe she's over-thinking this or perhaps there's more to this she's not sure about—yeah, that kind of makes sense like her theories do which she's been working on, and she can always look a little more into this—Oh. Izaya's watching her and she's been off in her own world. Oops?

["Does that include Shizuo, since you say he's not human?"] Celty knows she's pushing buttons and possibly too far but she has to ask. Doesn't consider the consequences until Izaya's face—surprisingly—twists into a smile that only affects the corners of his mouth. He's thinking something.

"I's funny, when you realize that people still like him even though he shuts himself away." Izaya murmurs lowly while he thinks. Celty doesn't know if she's supposed to be hearing this or he's meaning for her to hear. "An' me, I..." he stops, shaking his head (sadly, wait—) and the conversation comes to a halt. But she's letting curiosity get the best of her when she really wants to know what he's saying, without playing his games.

["And you don't have anyone. No friends, right?"] She doesn't mean to make it sound harsh when she types yet it comes out that way and Izaya sighs noisily in affirmation.

"Gods can't socialize with their people. It would contaminate them." The excuse is transparent, just like the smile he tries to present but can't seem to find the right means of making it believable. Celty's wondering if she's on to something because her heart tells her there's something he's not saying.

["You don't want to admit you're human, do you."] Hoping the drugs have kicked in enough to not take away the precious chance she has. It's wrong, she knows, to use him when he's like this but the situation calls for it by any means necessary.

A lazy smile that tells too much—it _hurts_ to _breathe_ —and he slurs. "Monsters can hate themselves too." The coy smile that never reaches his dull eyes tells her a much darker version to the sly quip and Celty's deciding she shouldn't go further when he's incapacitated and there's a chance of him remembering and therefore losing her only chance to know what's on his mind. Know him instead of her boss.

["Okay, that's enough."] There's a nagging feeling that's repeating the same thought of déjà vu Shinra once told her about on reading the science of dreams. ["Why don't we try and get you some broth? You've got to be hungry by now."]

As expected, Izaya shakes his head. "Not hungry." he replies, but this time there's a growl of an underfed stomach that quickly cuts him off that they both know isn't from Celty. He still refuses to admit defeat.

["It's just soup, except without the food in it."] Celty tries to reason with him and she remembers grimly that this is Izaya, the master manipulator. ["Come on. You don't even have to have that much. It's for your own benefit, really."]

"No." Izaya's starting to sound like a fussy child and looks the part when he knits his brows together and yawns, shaking his head. "If you want it, then go eat it yourself." Completely forgetting that Celty doesn't have a head, of course.

["Izaya, you need to have some. If you want to get out of that bed, you'll drink it."] What's his problem with drinking something flavored is entirely unknown to her. Why such a fuss about nothing? ["I made it myself, and it's not like it's poison."] Shinra even volunteered to taste it for her to make sure she did it perfectly and he even liked it, telling by the genuine way his face lit up and he beamed in approval.

Clearly Celty doesn't realize why Izaya _can't._ It's not her, per say, but he's not about to start explaining himself like a science experiment and doesn't want to in the first place. "You know Shinra likes anythin' you make." he snorts, firmly pushing his refusal with an insult to injury. He doesn't mean to insult her (he could honestly be fine without having to care less at all) although it's the only way he can keep her from pressing further without letting him calm the ache that's starting to flare between his eyes and pulse like the rise and fall of the tides.

["That's not nice."] she types, crossing her arms and huffing silently. Her fingers tap in a disturbed rhythm that Izaya knows from whenever she's mad. ["Well, I'm going to make sure you have some. There's nothing to be afraid of, you know. It's just flavored water."]

Izaya scowls with a scandalized look. "'m not scared." Fell right into that one, somehow. Probably the medications.

["Then why fight with me? Why not just drink some so you'll get better soon?"] Oh, Celty. Dear, stupid Celty. The answer is so ridiculously complex he doesn't know how to explain to her missing brain so that she'll understand. No one could possibly understand such a delicate matter only he knew of because _maybe_ he wants it that way. _Maybe,_ then, they could realize that they're not affected at all by what he does unless it's pertaining to work and even then they don't realize anything. It's how the entire system works, with his personal ugly human feelings and weaknesses bundled up and shoved to the farthest corners of his mind for the reason being he doesn't _need_ to feel anything in the first place.

But instead of some witty comeback or clever jab something salty stings his nose and he watches Celty's shoulders soften and she's turning fully toward him. What's she looking at now? Just trying to make fun of him for not being able to move and the fact he can't say anything when no one's going to understand much less consider anything that has to do with him in the first place. And good; fine then. He doesn't need anything his humans have to offer when there's nothing he wants from them. Can't corrupt his beloved humans when he's only meant to watch and affect their lives without their knowledge.

["I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."] Celty's PDA intones with the monotonous voice. He can picture Celty's voice but the image is ruined when he hears the disgusting tone of pity sinking in. He wants nothing more than to get up and leave, away from Celty's missing head as her hand suddenly rests on his arm and he realizes that the coldness on his cheeks isn't just because he's cold like the saltwater smell isn't from his nose.

He's crying. And it's pitiful, weak, and repulsive how the useless drops of water blur his vision and sting his eyes like bees before they fall and roll down his warmed skin. The reaction is probably to balance a chemical imbalance in his brain, he's sure of this, when there's no way he's actually expressing something as pathetic as sadness like there's something wrong when there isn't—

["Hey, it's okay."] What she's talking about they both know. But her hand rests on his cast with a reassuring sense they both don't speak about. She doesn't say anything more, letting Izaya deal with the infuriating bodily response he can't control at the moment or even attempt to understand. It's a mess to even try and he'll conveniently forget altogether when he's done and they won't talk about it again. Right now he's just a bit...messy, is all.

And Celty doesn't stay anything, staying there leaning against the bed with a hand on his cast until he falls asleep from exhaustion. She's even kind enough to wipe off the remaining traces of his mistakes with her thumb and takes the initiative to wait until later to start again.

Dependence isn't one of Izaya's best qualities. Therein lies the fact that he doesn't trust anyone, let alone ask for something instead of doing it himself. And now, having to be in forced bed rest Celty's concerned for what's to come. She knows it's a lot to ask for both of them, and the favor isn't as repayable as it sounds.

But there's the sinking feeling that's heart-clenching and it twists into her stomach uncomfortably when she can tell that it's not the conversation that's bringing Izaya down from his foundation of sand.

There's a storm brewing beneath.

_~_

It's twelve and Celty's watching a documentary on sea monsters when her phone buzzes with a text. At first she thinks it's Shinra telling her how bored he is sitting on a train and she prepares to tell him to just find something to do instead of constantly texting her the same thing over and over again. It's not that she doesn't want to talk to him, it's just that he's a bit redundant when he's really bored and proclaiming his love for her is sweet, but excessive when it's every other text. And they've already spoken about Izaya, (leaving out the part before he fell asleep) and he suggested to keep trying to offer him broth, sounding disappointed in text at the slow level of adjustment Izaya was willing to attempt.

Instead, it's not Shinra. [Shizuo Heiwajima: Hey, when did you want me to come over? For...that stuff.] She smiles when she can hear how awkward Shizuo's fumbled words are, even through text and she taps a reply.

[Anytime you're ready. Would you like me to pick you up?] Several moments pass before her phone buzzes again.

[Shizuo Heiwajima: Okay. I'll walk there, see you later then.] An odd thing to say since she's never had him refuse a ride, including all the way out to her and Shinra's apartment across town. But maybe he just needs some time to cool off beforehand, which she doesn't mind. Shizuo's a close friend of hers, so it's nothing to worry about. After all the stress he's been put through, she concludes that he needs a break from reality for a while until he has to face it directly.

Pausing her documentary, Celty remembers that Izaya's probably still sleeping and gets up from her seat on the sofa, heading over to the kitchen to pull out the pot of soup broth she made yesterday and setting it on the stove to heat up on the lowest setting and placing the pot lid on. Izaya still hasn't eaten, she recalls, and it's unlikey he's going to be willing, for some reason she's not sure. It could have to do with why he's so thin, but she doesn't ask until she's sure she knows _what_ to ask.

Questions buzz in her head as they have been recently, making their temporary (or at least she hopes) homes within the smoke cloud space where her head is supposed to be. She's not sure how things are going to play out but she's remaining positive for her own sake, as well as Shizuo's and Izaya's as things start to take place when Izaya starts recovering outside of the cot in the guest room. What's going to happen then—she's concerned, only knowing so little which is frustrating and she's got to be patient—she's not sure herself if Shinra even knows. The type of situation they're dealing with isn't just a commission job for pay.

Only Izaya knows. That's the main problem—solution. This _is_ about him, after all.

Celty shakes her head to clear her mind, finding little relief in doing so before she decides to check on Izaya. The broth's still warming up on the stove top when she approaches the door, knocking twice with gentle taps to signify her presence. Seconds pass and there's no answer, so she carefully lets the door click open when the knob turns far enough and lets herself in, shutting the door behind her.

In the soft shadow cast in the room she can easily see Izaya's sleeping form, chest rising and falling at a slower rate than when he's normally awake. Beside him the bedside monitor continues to glow a green light from the monitor, counting his heartbeats like an echo to the movement beneath the blankets. Walking over she comes up to his side, fully getting a view of his resting face—it's odd how peaceful he looks, almost younger—lips parted as puffs of air filter in and out, telling of his irritated nose from the events that took place before he fell asleep.

Truthfully, Celty's never known Izaya to sleep more than a couple hours at a time. He's mentioned in passing when she's taken jobs (never really listening to his rambling) that he lies awake most times, with a bustling city in his head that never slept so he had to stay awake to keep it alive. Now she's wondering if it's supposed to mean something (why didn't she listen?) because the same Izaya is lying in a hospital bed, taken from the edge of death (the circumstances aren't things any normal person speaks of, she can't—) and filled with smiles to be reused like a thousand paper cranes uselessly lying around when the entire room's been set on fire and doused. Soggy, wet, burned and torn to represent mere images of what they used to be.

Those red eyes of his Celty's always thought were strange are hidden under heavy lids, sealed with the gentle curve of eyelashes. It all seems so strange, she thinks when a hand brushes hair out of his face and she thinks she sees someone much younger than Izaya who isn't hiding behind those strange false grins of his and the taunts. In sleep she's always noticed people (especially Shinra, she shouldn't even get started with him) look so different. Izaya looks like a completely different person; almost like a child (except for the sharpened cheekbones and tight skin around his throat) dwarfed in the size of the blankets covering him.

At times like this she feels so helpless when she doesn't know what's wrong or how to fix it. Shinra doesn't know the answers either but it's a completely different thing—like she's _supposed_ to know why Izaya's here now instead of wreaking havoc on the streets.

Instead she's only got guesses and theories for comfort. (It's a lot of luxuries many can't afford.)

She wonders what Izaya has.

An hour passes with Celty remaining in the guest room, zoning out in her thoughts while the bedside monitor continues to beep the same pattern it's been repeating since she left Izaya earlier in the morning. About five hours in and she's curious if people sleep a lot more when they're injured like Izaya when she doesn't know herself what humans are supposed to do.

Her silent reverie is broken by the buzzing of her PDA, illuminating the screen with a new message of Shizuo which she taps to read. [Shizuo Heiwajima: I'm here, going up the steps.]

[You can let yourself in, the door's unlocked. I'll be over in a minute.] She slides her phone back into her shadows, stretching her stiff limbs after standing from leaning on the bed when she remembers the time and glances back at Izaya, taking in his sleeping face—it's not going to last forever, so might as well commit it to memory now.

The front door opens with a click and she hears footsteps, heavy and familiar. Shizuo's low voice rumbles through the walls as he mumbles to himself, asking for Celty by calling her name and then shuffling over to where the sofa squeaked with sudden weight. She excuses herself from Izaya's bedside, shifting so she doesn't wake him as she carefully leaves, making sure to close the door slowly as she does. From outside the room where it's brighter Shizuo's eyes are boring into her and she can feel the amassing of questions arising in the temporary silence between them.

"So..." Shizuo starts, unsure and he remains seated while his eyes dart away in a familiar habit of his. "He's uh, still sleeping?" Not quite hostile, but not entirely hospitable. She can't blame him now, but hopes the habit changes when Izaya's awake. And for the better, too.

["He's still—"] she starts typing but remembers the voice function is still on somehow. [Sorry. He's still sleeping. Although he should be waking up soon.] Shizuo reads the message when she approaches, having her PDA nearly shoved into his face. The stove, she remembers suddenly. [I don't have anything ready if you're hungry, did you want anything?] She's heading off to the kitchen when Shizuo shakes his head, shutting off the stove top and removing the pot from the heat and lifting the lid, stirring the contents within of a pale yellow color.

"What's that?" Shizuo eyes it warily and she resists the urge to chuckle. It's been a while since things have been lighthearted and not so serious as they have been, and she hasn't realized how much she's missed it.

[Broth. With added nutrients. It's for Izaya.] She heads back to the couch, placing the lid back on the pot and sitting down across from Shizuo. [Sorry for making you come on short notice. It's been kind of crazy, as you know.]

Shizuo shakes his blond head, dismissing the concern nonchalantly. "Nah, I don't care. I took the rest of the day off when Tom-san told me to. Said I was acting anxious." He's more than anxious when he looks past the surface like Tom-san always does, peering deep and into the twisting ropes and cords of anger and confusion bundled amongst other pesky trivialities. It's not like he's going to admit out loud why he's here and Celty already knows this despite her lack of knowledge on his discussion with Shinra. So he doesn't want to say much of what's gnawing inside his brain and causing a tension headache that's stuck for days now. He can't touch the palpable sensation—oh, the irony—throbbing at his temples but he can remember the nightmares every time he closed his eyes to will the headache away.

[I'll go wake him up after I explain what you'll be doing. Ready?] Celty gauges him for nervousness (of course he is, they both know this) and he doesn't meet her gaze although it's a bit difficult when she doesn't have a head.

"Yeah, yeah. Just show me what to do." A wave of the hand carelessly expressing disinterest. The heaviness of his thoughts weighs him down and it's more of a move for himself to ignore them. Why he's here is still the main question (his thoughts are swimming) as it flits through his head at every single opportunity presented. Or when he happens to be very much awake and very low on cigarettes. But there's money involved in this deal, so he should be able to buy himself more later on with the first payment and pretend it's not the flea he's taking care of like a nanny.

And if Izaya's haughty grin flashes through his mind more than once, he doesn't say anything.

[So, Shinra's going to have a diet plan assigned for Izaya. You'll be getting it from him tonight, and what I'll be showing you is the first couple days or weeks of what Izaya will be eating first. It's usually a soup solution, easy for him to digest. But he can't move his arm, so he'll be needing assistance by mainly having you handle a bowl while he uses his other arm.] Celty demonstrates dutifully, ignoring Shizuo's raised eyebrow in question as she attempts all seriousness in her task. She pauses, looking back to him and waiting for a nod in confirmation to begin typing again.

[Right now the main problem is he's refusing to eat. And I doubt he'd want a feeding tube connected to his stomach, so you may have to coerce him into eating. If worse comes to worse, you may have to spoon feed him yourself. There are requirements for what he has to eat and how to eat it in certain intervals Shinra's written down. Just try to be gentle, please. Remember that he's not in the best of shape right now.] Celty quickly tacks on the last sentence when she recalls Shizuo's brutal strength and her imagination warps it into something far too vivid and violent for her liking. A shudder ripples down her spine—okay, it's just an image. Shizuo's not going to be a monster because he isn't.

Shizuo, on the other hand, feels ridiculous. He's sitting here, learning how to take care of the shitty louse who he hasn't seen yet so the image he's trying to picture isn't entirely accurate. It's not like he cares because no, he doesn't. Doesn't give a rat's ass about the damn flea, just about the money and whatever bullshit Shinra's spouting is his own delusional ramblings. Celty interrupts him by tapping on his shoulder, recalling his dilapidated attention.

[Shizuo? Is something the matter?] All of a sudden as Celty's asking him his stomach churns black bile and saltwater, stinging the lining of his stomach and harshly rubbing his throat raw. He's not one to be edging away when it's him who has to take responsibility for something he physically didn't do (mentally, he questions, did Shinra do this on purpose?) and somehow here he is learning how to take care of the shitty flea. What his life has come to he's not sure he knows the answer. Or the desire to throw a vending machine across Ikebukuro and hit a moving flea that's part of the rising anger he's agreed to keep in check.

"No," he denies, eyes coming back to Celty when he's realized once again that he's been staring off into space. "I...uh, never mind. Why don't you...just show me what to do when he's awake?" he excuses himself, only to fumble and then shake his head when he hears how stupid he sounds. Like a fool blathering on and choking on his spit, except this one doesn't even know how to talk about his hated enemy besides the usual _kill kill kill_ mantra and the tasteful arrangement of vending machines and other government property as added effect. Articulating isn't one of his finest skills. And he doesn't want to see Izaya when it's an excuse that his subconscious has helped him come up with which only makes him more suspicious of his sanity (it's the lack of sleep) and he hopes Celty doesn't comment. Thankfully she spares him a single glance.

[Let's go see him, then.] Celty then stands and heads over to the guest room's door, which he's just noticing has been closed. Wasn't it open last time?

"Yeah, okay." Not really paying attention to what he's doing because he's somehow tuned out for now and follows Celty over to the guest room, forgetting where he is and what's beyond the door. Like it's some haunted house-type stupidity when he knows what's on the other side but it's still no less annoying.

Or maybe he's just not ready to face what he thinks he's left behind.

_~_

"So you say, this friend of yours," the redheaded woman in front of Shinra mentions, picking up her phone to call up images from the email sent to her. Shinra catches a glimpse of the photos he took, averting his eyes and electing to sip on his mug of hot chocolate out in front of the cafe both doctors chose to meet at.

"Acquaintance," he interjects, meeting warm brown eyes that instantly remind him of Shizuo the way they're calm and unguarded. She blinks, turning her attention back to the email and nods once.

"My mistake; your acquaintance then. And these images you emailed me are him?" she continues, lips pursing into a thin line when she takes in the severity of the bruises and limbs of bone-thin proportion. Her expression is as tight as the fiery red bun she's pulled her hair back into, and Shinra finds it oddly fitting in one of the worst ways humor can find. He blames it on the lack of sleep as it's easy to do and less fussy.

"That's him." She notices how he doesn't look when she taps her phone screen, favoring to watch the traffic outside of the cafe window. Doesn't follow his gaze when she knows it's not an easy topic to converse about so she keeps the pace going.

"I can tell from physical appearance that major weight loss is a symptom of several possible mental disorders. A suicide attempt—you mentioned a note, I believe, is also another factor related to severe depression. Do you have anything else on his condition?" she sips from her coffee, red nails tapping on the surface of her phone screen while her eyes are gazing elsewhere as she thinks.

"I don't know the full story, so it's only a little I know and not much from before my girlfriend found him." Shinra smiles uneasily and tries to recall what little he does know. "One thing I have been noticing is that he's refusing to eat. Even broth, but he'll drink water. He's always on edge, and gets frustrated when I mention anything related to food. Yesterday, he even refused his favorite which he's never passed up before." Images of his conversation with Izaya yesterday come to mind as he recollects trying to tempt him to eat with the promise of his beloved ootoro, which didn't end well. Izaya hadn't ever passed up an opportunity for fatty tuna. And Shinra decided to blame it on the medications for the odd behavior, unable to understand Izaya in the first place anyway.

She nods, filing away the information and he wonders what she's thinking and how she can possibly diagnose something like this with what little he has. But then again, he's only a physical doctor and she specializes in mental illness, in physical terms. "Is that all? As well as information from your email, which explains a bit more on your concerns and observations. I assume you're exhausted right now too much to focus."

"Yeah," he nods sheepishly, "a bit." Drinking from his hot chocolate (lamenting because it's not made by his beautiful and talented Celty) he stares out the window, listening to the hums of the redhead across the table as she's raking her brain for symptoms matching up and hopefully describing what's wrong with Izaya. At least a head start, if anything (he's tricky to understand) to go off of.

"Alright," she sighs, preoccupied with her thoughts that are coming together quickly as more and more theories and symptoms match, coming together in several different topics she's familiar with, unlike Shinra who's completely clueless and only has human intuition. "From what I've gathered, there are several different possible diagnoses. So bear with me, because each can either sound similar or even completely different. It depends on how you look at it."

Shinra nods, eyes snapping back to her as she sets her cellphone down on the table. "He fits the symptoms of several possible disorders which can relate to each other. I'll just stick with those for now, because those are the closest to what you've described to me and what I've seen. First of all, severe depression is my main concern. You've seen the effects of it and the note you've mentioned fit it perfectly, as well as the mannerism of suicide and the method." Straight-faced she's going down the list of what may be wrong and it's fascinating, listening to a fellow doctor from a different field when he's realizing that his profession isn't the only one. (Of course he knows that.)

"Borderline personality disorder, or often misdiagnosed by amateur doctors as bipolar disorder, is characterized by suicide attempts with depression, self-mutilation including extreme weight gain or loss, anger or inappropriate displays of anger toward others, unstable relationships, and also depersonalization tendencies, such as calling himself a "god" and refusing to accept his humanity. There are other symptoms, but I won't list too many. One of his main characteristics you mentioned was impulsive behavior, which is also another major symptom of borderline personality disorder. Antisocial personality disorder is also common in people with borderline personality disorder, and so there's a fair assumption there." Shinra's head starts to reel when he realizes she's describing the Izaya he knows—with deadly accuracy, even though she's one of the lucky few who doesn't know of him at all.

"It's actually kind of weird." Shinra states, talking more to himself when her phone buzzes on the table. She excuses herself, turning her cellphone to silent and then facing him again, listening. "You've basically described him there. Hopefully you're through the most of it?" It's a silly thing to hope for, but he's always optimistic.

"Actually, no. Just the beginning." she apologizes in the quiet tone of her voice, brown eyes that remind him of Shizuo meet his and he wonders what Celty's up to now with the both of them. "Post traumatic stress disorder is another plausible theory, but I won't say any more on that until you find out a bit more. However my main theory isn't something that's going to sound like him, but I'll explain and hopefully it does make sense considering his situation and the treatment plan. But I have a strong theory I'd like for you to hear." There's an unexpected edge to her voice Shinra picks up on, having his intuition heightened with his darling Celty to help him out with that. However this occasion is something he's both curious and reluctant to hear, as there always is with the way bad news is delivered by any doctor.

Suspension builds, higher and higher up until the weight of hit just can't hold anymore and it all comes crashing down with the sense of dread more than just a feeling.

"Your friend, Izaya, has an eating disorder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update. I keep saying that, but it's still a bit exciting. Anyway, at least it's Wednesday and this is up on time, even if it's a tad of a preparatory chapter to build suspense and just because. The "Mend" series is now complete, and another series I'm working on will be coming out soon, hopefully.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	7. Beyond the Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more to him than he wants to admit.

_~_

_...If you close your eyes, you can't see what's left behind._

  
The moment Shizuo trails in after Celty's announced herself there's this tension thicker than blood that has the possibility of being spilled. Shizuo's meeting red eyes that stay on him, watching and waiting for his next move as if he's planning something. In fact eye contact in the silence only makes Shizuo's anger come next to bursting through, if it isn't for Celty stepping between them and typing something quickly on her PDA, monotonous tone breaking the silence like glass.

["Behave, you two."] First thing she types and it's the knife that's cutting through the tension like concrete and switchblades. Izaya rolls his eyes and grins with cat-like smugness while Shizuo's growling under his breath. He's free of his nasal cannula today, so he's in a slightly better mood now that his nose doesn't hurt as much any more. She's the one to head over to Izaya, gently touching his hand while she's checking the bedside monitor and the IV in his arm with a silent reminder of what little choice he has. Of course she knows how demeaning this is, but there's not much he has for options.

["Are you hungry at all, Izaya?"] Celty taps, hoping she's not going to have to put up with another disagreement when she knows it's one of Shinra's tests for Izaya to be discharged and she's already worried enough as is.

"Mmph." he mumbles, sighing in annoyance. The fatigue is still evident in his voice and she's sure it's not just because he's injured and needs to sleep. It's unsettling that he hasn't had anything at all to eat and he's not actively asking for anything, even when she's heard his stomach growl loudly in protest despite what he says. "I don' need anything." He must be delirious if he thinks that's going to work with her. (Shizuo scoffs from the door, surprised thoroughly with the change in character. He doesn't see yet, though.)

["There's no nice way I'm going to put this."] Celty's shoulders slump with a silent huff. Smoke billows from her throat in an exaggerated exhale just to articulate her point and how disappointed she is. But she notices the ways Izaya's eyes change like street lights. ["Either you eat what I give you, or you get a feeding tube and stay here until you're able to eat on your own. What's it going to be?"]

"You drive such a hard bargain." Izaya grumbles, flapping his fingers in a lazy wave and thoroughly irritated by now. Shizuo's snickering to himself and he's not finding it all that funny, especially with the idiotic monster in the same room as him. Why Shinra decided on this he doesn't think he wants to know how stupid the doctor's become. But the joke's over now as it's clearly not that funny.

Celty knows she's won, and she's now the one who's looking smug as she straightens and squares her shoulders. ["Glad you see it my way. I'll go get you your soup and Shizuo will keep you company for a little bit. No fighting, okay?"] She shoots Shizuo a look to make sure he's heard even when she knows he listens and he gives a reluctant nod, moving away from the doorway as she walks out. Door clicking behind her, there is a rare complete silence between them that lasts more than several seconds while they stare each other down. Izaya, by the look of what Shizuo can see, doesn't look well at all and proves this when he finally turns his head away and closes his eyes.

"What's wrong, Shizu-chan? Can't stand to be here?" Izaya yawns, voice low and just above a rumbling murmur. The teasing that's usually there is gone and so when he speaks, Shizuo's realizing that he's never heard Izaya without his sarcasm. It's kind of like Izaya's voice has been hollowed out and left a shell of what it's supposed to sound like (if only he knew the irony of it all) and he's momentarily unsure as to how to continue. So he tries to behave like Celty asked him to.

"Not especially." Shizuo admits with a grunt, moving cautiously near the bed with only a couple steps. He can feel Izaya's lazy stare on him, silently gauging and observing and it's scrutinizing—buzzing in his head between his eyebrows in a concentrated knot that drills into his skull. He hates how Izaya (those danger signs for eyes) _always_ stares and he doesn't smile. It's the only time he doesn't and it's almost like he's thinking and jumping to conclusions though Shizuo knows Izaya's frustrated with him when he can't read what's not there. It's his only trump card. And he hates this game instead of the king, but he'd never admit that or he'd lose all the hands he has.

"I can't do anything, Shizu-chan. Come, take a look and see just how pathetic it is to be strapped to a bed." Izaya starts with a cough and speaks in low tones, but the bitterness moves in like the tsunami season and it's learning something new when Izaya can't hide behind facades and running away. "Oh, wait, you don' even know, do you? No, the monster doesn' get to know when Shinra thinks it's your fault." The slur creeps in no matter how much he tries to hide it and the barbs are starting and they fall short of being effective. Shizuo's curiosity is piqued when he'll try to deny it if asked but he can't help the strange pull his mind calls for to investigate Izaya's claim. It's always like this in their cat-and-mouse game and it's the hook to get the game started.

Another step. Careful despite the image of nonchalance that's spread across his face like a mask and fingers clenched into fists to keep down his anger that always explodes in his face whenever he sees Izaya. Surprisingly, Izaya doesn't look at him and hasn't since their last staring contest. His eyes are closed and have been which is an odd behavior for the one who watches everyone and everything. Shizuo's beginning—this isn't Izaya, is it—to wonder if there's something (very) wrong with the flea. No, it can't be anything _that_ serious, right? It's just the shitty flea and who cares if he's pulled some stupid shit now.

"What..." he starts with a question set just to be safe and keep from blurting out something Celty will hear and get mad at yet it doesn't work well the moment he's in range of seeing Izaya's sleeved arm lying on his stomach. There is bone outlined in small parts, drenched in fabric and a curling nausea starts to trickle in Shizuo's stomach from his eyes and his throat runs dry. It's a good thing it rains in Tokyo. He doubts, though, it's going to make up for his lack of conviction and sounding like an idiot as his voice trails off without his permission as he's (surprised, maybe) certainly confused and wonders if that's really Izaya's arm—it is, his brain shoots back. "...happened to your arm?" The one closest to him, the left, is covered in a cast that swallows the entire limb up to Izaya's shoulder.

Izaya's eyes flicker open and they're slits as if to show just how tired he is when he looks at Shizuo and turns his head. "I broke it, Shizu-chan. Obviously." The dismissal is a ghost of sarcasm that's usually potent in small doses. Maybe they both know what Shizuo's talking about and he's wondering what's taking Celty so long to pour some broth to shove down Izaya's throat. The mental images do wonders for Shizuo's anger. A small smirk even graces his face that Izaya sees, and for a fraction of a second a mirror copies on his lips before it fades into the set frown he's stuck on himself with the intention of keeping it that way.

"No," Shizuo gets closer. "The other one. On your stomach, flea." As if to elaborate, he points and takes more steps. Several feet away and he can feel the wave of uneasiness that's not his own and watches Izaya's frown deepen and his eyes narrow. But he keeps going as if good social graces don't apply to him and he's not going to rest until he gets what will satisfy him. "Tell me it's not what it looks like." he speaks in an almost sigh and isn't sure what he's trying to convince himself of.

"What are you tryin' to get at, Shizu-chan." Izaya sighs in disappointment as he was expecting something a bit better than the look of pity that he _knows_ will form and he'll get the itching urge under his fingernails to rip Shizu-chan's eyes out as his knife is who knows where. Normally he'd have a little more patience for Shizu-chan's stupidity but now's not the time he's exactly willing to pretend to care. For someone as empty-headed and so (confusing) _frustrating_ it's only natural Shizuo can bring the worst out of him in less than three seconds and not even a word between them. Now there's a world record going on for how much Izaya's willing to take and how many different types of drugs are in his bloodstream and clogging his brain as a contender.

"It's thin, shitty flea. What do I need to describe for you to get it?" Suddenly he's close enough and the exasperation is more than evident. It's disgusting because it smells like pity. "Here, you idiot—" he grumbles, reaching forward far too quickly for Izaya to stop him and then his right arm is somehow in Shizuo's grasp that isn't bone-crushing—yet. Izaya meanwhile tries to squirm away and mutter obscenities as he's feeling less than his usual fantastic self and Shizu-chan knows how to push his buttons past snapping into tiny pieces.

"Let go, you brute." he hisses uselessly and knows with grim realization it falls on deaf and dumb ears. Shizuo's fingers have encircled his wrist that he might as well say goodbye to and somehow he can still feel his fingers and gives a slight wave just because. Shizuo's expression is priceless. And hilariously stupid, as always. But his lips are pursed—Not that he'd notice that anyway, but with the current circumstances—Izaya can feel what's coming next. And he sighs in bored anticipation.

"You're joking..." Izaya hears slip out from Shizuo's mouth under his breath, mouthing the words while his eyes widen and it's quite possibly one of the funniest things in the world. So Izaya laughs, as any intelligent being would interpret the situation because Shizu-chan's _just that stupid_. It's too good; Shizuo's even dumber than he expects.

Shizuo, on the other hand, doesn't share his sense of humor and his fingers tighten to an uncomfortably painful grasp. Izaya's too busy at first (laughing until his lungs start burning for air) to notice, but the moments his fingers start tingling he tries to tug away and demand Shizuo to let go of him. His ribs hurt from the laughter that keeps bubbling up and for the first time in a while he's feeling more than just existing. He feels _alive._

Luckily and unfortunately for Shizuo, Celty comes in with a bowl on a tray and Shizuo reluctantly lets go of Izaya's slowly numbing fingers. He jumps back several feet as if he's regretting everything he does—it shows in his eyes the self directed animosity—and his lips turn into a scowl.

["You're both in one piece. Good."] Celty taps with one hand, cautiously coming to a stop and resting the bowl on Izaya's abdomen. The voice on her PDA dutifully notifies them that the tension that's been building is completely nonexistent to Celty or she's ignoring it. Both, however, agree that she's not that unobservant when the heated glances Shizuo's sparing and the lazy ones Izaya attempts are more than descriptive of what exactly is going on. ["Shizuo, why don't you feed Izaya? I'm sure he'd appreciate the help."]

Shizuo blanches. Izaya, forgetting his place in the situation laughs so hard that Celty has to grab the soup to keep it from falling over as he's gasping for air and lifting up from his bed. It hurts as far as the shock waves of pain that ripple throughout him yet he isn't too concerned with stopping as long as he can laugh at Shizuo's ridiculous expressions. Celty, confused as to what's developed within her absence, glances uneasily back and forth from Izaya to Shizuo with the steaming bowl in her hands.

"Oi, shut up, stupid flea!" Shizuo makes a step forward and his fists clench even tighter although he notices the shadows flicker from the corner of his eye. The noise grates his ears and creates sparks of angry friction coursing through the sinews of muscle and tendon strung with tension. Celty turns to him, handing him the bowl of broth while she types again with Izaya's laughter dying down.

["Uh... Are you two alright? Did I miss something?"] Izaya catches his breath, turning his head the other way while he coughs and clears his throat. Shizuo's face flushes with heavily restricted rage and he huffs through his nose, grinding his teeth together.

"Nothing important." Shizuo grinds out, scraping teeth muffling his voice. He shoots a deadly glare meant to kill at the one and only cockroach passing as a human being and Izaya's lips turn into a short smirk that fades in seconds. His heart's beating faster—no, it's just the adrenaline. Honestly. Izaya knows how to rile him up, is all.

And the little shit can't seem to know when to shut up. "Shi...Shizu-chan's jus'..." he slurs, sucking in breaths and frowning as he tries to pull his composure back into one piece. "Doesn't agree with the predicament he's in."

Celty frowns and neither see it. ["There's not much I can do about that, Shizuo. Just try and not get too angry with him."] Shizuo rolls his eyes and Izaya pouts at the inference she's making, hanging in the air with monotonous viciousness that only applies to him because he's the only one who hears it like that.

Lessons of how to help Izaya are flashing through Shizuo's thoughts, now applying them and the images are...less than expected and more annoying than he's imagined. His gaze drifts downward to the steam rising from the warmed bowl burning into the flesh of his palms the longer he holds on to it. "So...I, uh, what do you want me to do with this?" he asks Celty more than Izaya even when he already knows the answer. Biting his tongue to pretend that he didn't just say something stupid he inwardly feels the backlash thrashing in insults hurling at speeds faster than Izaya can dish out and ten times harsher.

["Oh. Sorry about that."] she types, holding up a finger to ask for a moment. Then she's back to Izaya and helping him sit up while he's eerily silent. The grimace on his face doesn't go unnoticed and Shizuo notices it too, especially when he shifts his leg and the hiss of pain is audible to all of them. Celty's right arm is around his shoulders and the other is supporting his head and careful to move slowly. When he's up far enough and grinding his teeth past lips tightly pressed together and turning white she moves the pillow down to his back and helps him rest against it. He doesn't ever admit he's in pain, Shizuo watches, even when his eyes squeeze shut and he bites his lip like he's going to start screaming. And in watching that scene alone, he's beginning to think that he doesn't know this Izaya.

["Shizuo, you can help Izaya because you're going to be doing this for a while; until he can help himself."] The request is embarrassing for the both of them and while Celty's helpful, she doesn't understand (or maybe she's not caring) what she's asking. But Celty, as open as she is, is also hard to read.

Before Shizuo can respond, a text message buzzes and Celty nearly drops her phone in surprise, clutching it tightly and accessing the message. Shizuo doesn't get a chance to ask before she's reading and she pauses, seconds before she quickly types something and excuses herself.

["I'll be back in half an hour, Shinra needs something."] She quickly walks out the door, closing it with a resounding soft click and leaving the two most famous men of Ikebukuro in one room together. The coincidence is unsettling.

Shizuo is beside himself, thinking. His brain's overwhelming itself already with thoughts of what can possibly go wrong now and the fact that his hated enemy is lying helpless on a bed. It's not fair to get revenge this way but it might be the only chance he gets—No. Focus, Shizuo. This may be Izaya, but Shizuo isn't the flea. He will not play by the same dirty tactics because he's better than that. And this may be the start of getting Izaya to pay for what he's done, without doing anything wrong. Just some humiliation like in their Raira days. Except this time, the tables are turned.

"Here," Shizuo sets the bowl on Izaya where Celty demonstrated earlier, staring at the spoon (he's never really used them except for pudding) resting against the side. Thoughts churn in his head and he's not really sure how to do this. He keeps reminding himself that he shouldn't care that much because it's Izaya—all the more reason to—and only manages to make himself more depressed at what he's gotten involved with.

"No, thanks." Izaya doesn't have the common courtesy of looking at him. He stares at his lap, watching the bowl without any particular interest. His right arm shifts and stretches, hiding beneath the pooling fabric of Shinra's shirt that's much too big for him.

"...Don't give me that argument. You already know what will happen if you don't." Shizuo retorts, eyes darting to Izaya's that are still on the bowl. Izaya scoffs quietly and then red eyes are glaring into Shizuo's with a venomous calm as a facade. Shizuo can see right past it and into the churning anger that's there and hidden so poorly he assumes Izaya isn't trying to hide it.

"'m not hungry." he declares, unblinking. The remark Shizuo comes up with is at his lips and spat before he has time to realize what he's saying.

"That's because your stomach is too shrunken to have room to growl." he bites back and his teeth click when his jaw snaps together. Izaya is surprised by the comeback and too drugged to say something witty so he's silent and his brain is running on empty with nothing to say.

And then he gets childish. "Then make me." His eyes narrow in a challenge sparkling somewhere beyond the depths of hazy drugs filling his system and reducing him to a pathetic state of consciousness and stupidity. He'll probably regret this but as he is he can work anything to his favor.

Except Shizuo, of course. And so Shizuo rises to the challenge when he knows Izaya can't win by taking the handle of the spoon and (clumsily) holding it between his fingers, scooping up a small amount and holding it to Izaya's lips. "Open up."

"Gross, Shizu-cha—gh!" he starts with the obvious intent of refusal until the spoon's been shoved past his mouth (clicking against his teeth none too gently) and the dull taste of broth sets his tongue on fire. He's quick to make a face and try to spit out the burning liquid—it really _does_ hurt—but Shizuo's quicker. Before he can, a hand's clamped over his mouth and nose, as if the protozoan's daring him to try spitting it out. And it burns going down his throat and pooling into his abused stomach not just because of the temperature.

When Shizuo's feels the bob of Izaya's throat—has his face always been that angular—he retracts his hand, quickly enough to avoid the snap of teeth that barely miss his flesh. An angered hiss comes from Izaya, biting his tongue and chewing on it while he glares at Shizuo with the heavy realization his switchblade is nowhere nearby. Right now the humiliation is starting to trickle in and he pushes it away with brutish impulses Shizuo would be proud of. Although he isn't fond of behaving like an idiot when he's been reduced to a powerless god.

"What wath that for?" Izaya lisps, holding his burned tongue in between his teeth and puffing his cheeks, unaware of how childlike he looks. Shizuo's eyebrow twitches as it rises in question, unaware of how hot the soup is and of course can't see much farther than past the surface of things. Of course Shizu-chan's an idiot. A stupid, devolved amoeba. "Ith hot, you monther." he moans, swallowing carefully after saliva pools in his mouth as a response to the new burns. He winces: uncomfortable tightness sparking his raw skin from saliva combining with the exposed flesh.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Spoon clunking back in the bowl and sending drops flying out of the bowl and onto the blanket makes Izaya's eyes narrow. But the overall effect is continuously ruined by having his tongue stick out like a dog. Serves the smug bastard right. "You're the one making me do this." he gruffly adds, ignoring Izaya's eye roll even though the sound of veins popping starts growing in volume.

"Did not." Izaya spits, sighing in what almost becomes a hiss of annoyance. "Ith Thizu-chan really going to fight with me, or would you rather ethplain why you're here in the firtht plathe?"

His comment hits a rough spot and he notices the way Shizuo stifles a cringe like it's just a fly buzzing by. But he should know better: fleas sink their teeth in. And he's starving for the blood that slips through the cut of Shizuo's split lip. "I should ask you the same question, flea." he remarks coldly and doesn't realize the impact of his words is deeper than past the surface. Izaya will never let it show, anyway. More words come to Shizuo's thoughts, but they're caught in his throat and he clears it which isn't completely awkward. Or so he likes to hope.

Izaya stays silent. In more ways than one it's strangely uncomfortable. Maybe it's the burnt tongue perched between his lips in a scowl though his eyes are far away. Against the pale skin of his cheekbones, his eyes look strangely hollow. The mischievous look he—always—has is ( _gone_ ) missing.

Conversation falls short of dead and past freshly killed, still warm and the scent of blood lingering in the air. Shizuo tries to revive it with the thoughts that keep coming without regard to who Izaya is to him. He's slowly starting to care less and less about appearances. "Come on," he spoons more broth in his clumsy fingers and holds it up, watching steam rise. "You need to eat."

"Too hot." Izaya mumbles quietly, never looking back at Shizuo and his eyes start to droop further than they have been. If Shizuo knows any better then he would have realized that it's the distasteful tang of defeat starting to spread like poison, slower than doubt. What he doesn't see is the screaming and the accusations and the beautiful monstrosity of the mind, right in front of him.

Anger ebbs and flows into the pit of his stomach, retracting from his throat and scratching down his spine. "Here," he holds the spoon up to his lips and blows on it, remembering only Kasuka when he was sick and forgetting that this is Izaya for the briefest of moments. It works, too. Then the spoon moves back to the empty grimace and after several seconds of hesitation, it disappears past lips and his throat bobs.

Silence. And the process repeats again, soup cooling like the carcass of bantering that's been left to die. Slowly bleeding out, oozing and deliberate like the careful maneuvering of the spoon to Izaya's lips and making sure not to aggravate the skin of his tongue that's still red and angry. An indecent thought—warm, inviting, and just—comes to mind and is squashed faster than his fingers tighten his grasp to the spoon's breaking point. But a sigh keeps him from destroying the stupid thing and he's left reeling as he's forgotten momentarily what he's doing.

Really shouldn't of had that conversation with Shinra. Now it's starting to affect him and it's _creepy_ and horrifying. For some reason neither of them have noticed—or cared—that Celty's gone and no one's dead yet.

"No," Izaya turns his head away from the next spoonful, looking almost nauseous. "No more." Shizuo wants to argue but Izaya's unlikely to retort which hardly makes it fair, he reasons with himself. But glancing at the soup, it's been barely a third of a cup that Izaya has gotten down and there's another cup he has to get through as far as Shizuo knows.

"You barely had anything. Come on."

"Don' want to." Izaya keeps his head turned and it's starting to fall back even as he's fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Why not, flea?" Malice filters in mixed with annoyance. Shizuo scoops more, but Izaya's lips are sealed. "You have to eat more. It's just broth, so you shouldn't have a problem." A noise akin to a growl but far weaker answers him and red eyes narrow.

"I thought I told you no." Izaya growls, turning only to snap his gaze to Shizuo and his jaw twitches when he clenches it, outlined by his skin closely hugging it. "I can't eat any more, you idiot." The slur is still there, but more because of the sparks of pain that come from his tongue.

"Bullshit." Shizuo snaps, spoon insistent and Izaya's still refusing. How could he possibly be full from the little that he's had? It doesn't make any sense and he bets Izaya's just trying to fool with him just to be disagreeable. "Eat it." he pushes the spoon forward and Izaya's right hand comes up, slapping the spoon out of his hand and it clatters to the floor, spilling its contents on the blanket and the floor. "The fuck, flea?"

"I can't eat anymore." Izaya insists, glaring angrily while Shizuo's temper is tangible as it rises and he braces for the hit that's inevitable. The bedside monitor starts to give a warning chirp every once in a while with the increased heart rate it reads. He won't give the reason why as he's not too keen on letting Shizuo take advantage of his weakness any more than he's already had to. And of course the buffoon doesn't understand such matters when his IQ is negative. Another wave of nausea makes his stomach cramp and his right arm presses over the area, swallowing with disgust. His brain's firing up like inflammation and the thoughts are coming in, pressing and burning like knives and needles from the inside of his skull and what's now becoming his stomach. He hates this—so damn much, why does this have to happen to him now and with this idiot—and the urge to throw up is as heavy as his anger that boils beneath his skin.

"What is your problem!?" Shizuo snarls, taking note of the way Izaya's arm presses against his stomach like he's been wounded. He knows he's being unreasonable when he suspects Izaya's stomach is shrunken enough to not accept a normal amount of food. But that doesn't mean the useless flea can't try. "Why are you being an idiot? Don't you realize this is for your own damn good or is your flea brain too small to comprehend that you're being kept alive?"

"You think I haven't noticed?" Izaya's voice raises in his uncontrolled anger that he'd be embarrassed of at any time he's able to think coherently but with all the pressure that's been building he can't manage anything and it's frustrating. "I didn't ask for any of this—especially your infectious stupidity." Shizuo grabs the bowl from Izaya's lap, placing it on the floor before he can break it over Izaya's head. And Izaya knows Shizuo doesn't understand the meaning behind his words—he's always been good at games—and the frustration of how he can't control himself itches under his skin and throbs in his head and his fingers twitch for his switchblade.

Shizuo's phone buzzes in an interesting twist of fate and it's a sudden reminder to keep from murdering the flea right in front of him—he _chose_ to do this, why is he such a hypocrite—and excuses himself from the room, slamming the door when he leaves. The sound echoes and the bedside monitor falls silent.

Izaya buries his head in his right hand, covering his eyes and telling himself that it's going to be over soon. He honestly feels like he's losing his mind.

And with Shizu-chan, it's bound to happen.

_~_

Red hair catches in the sunset and Shinra realizes how late it's gotten, pulling out his phone and confirming that is late. The conversation with the doctor across from him has come to a lull as she's been explaining everything she can and repeating because it's hard to understand.

"I think I should get going, my beloved Celty might be lonely with all the time I've been gone." Shinra acknowledges the sunset, meeting mocha-colored eyes that move their gaze to him. She nods, turning to the large arching window of her living room and gazing at the sunset.

"It is getting late. And the last train for Tokyo is in an hour." she confirms with her cellphone. "Would you like for me to drive you there? It'll take too long to walk there, even if you run."

"Yeah, thanks." Shinra takes a sip from his water glass, musing over all the information freshly imprinted and swimming in his head. "I shouldn't keep you from your husband, should I? I bet he's not happy I've spent the day with you."

She cracks a smile, but never past the corners of her lips turning upward. "Oh, he'll be fine. I've got to break the news to him anyway, so I'll make him wait."

"Oh?" Shinra leans forward, setting his chin on his hands and elbows on his thighs. "What news?"

She smiles a little more. "I'm pregnant. With twins." And Shinra's jaw drops, but then his face breaks out in a grin and he laughs at the reaction he wonders her husband will have.

"Congratulations!" he chuckles and it's a silent thank you for lifting off of the heavy topic of Izaya they've both been weighed down with. Well, him, to be more specific. The prospect of an old acquaintance having children makes him realize just how old he is and the thought brings Celty to mind. "Do you know what their genders are?"

"Thank you." She sips her tea with a nod. "And I think I'll find out when they're born. Try to make myself feel more youthful, even though I work with younger people all day."

"Will you continue working, or take your maternity leave?" he asks, genuinely curious and the idea of life being created right in front of him makes it even more intriguing. If only Celty...

"I'll keep working." she replies, smile fading back into her regular neutral expression. "I can't sit around all day, so I'd rather work until I'm in labor." Then she clears her throat, clearly hesitant in talking about the current topic of being a mother. It's not that she's embarrassed or afraid, but rather, she doesn't know how to convey her thoughts properly beyond fact. "Here, I'll take you to the train station. Is there anything else you need me to clarify on?"

Shinra thinks, going over the information and without warning a question's already escaping him. "So... Izaya. And your diagnosis, will he ever..." he trails off, unsure how to finish. The topic's an issue he's unintentionally skirted around as it's still not sinking in yet (probably won't until tomorrow) and so he's more than grateful to have her keep him grounded.

"Will he ever recover?" she supplies and the nod means she's correct in her guess. "It depends on the person. From what you've told me, I'm sure he can make the recovery. But the thing is, it's a disease that once one has it, it doesn't ever truly leave. However, that isn't saying it's completely hopeless. It means that he may still have the same thoughts even after he's made a recovery. And he can get through those with help." She stands, stretching gently but her eyes are on Shinra, searching for any change in his expression.

Before they reach the door she stops, remembering something. "The blood tests you asked for, they'll be ready by next week on Monday."

"Thanks." Shinra grins, heading to the door with her. She doesn't say anything, but a nod suffices.

_~_

The rest of the day has been unprecedented. For one thing, Celty's not sure if this may be some elaborate prank, or Shizuo and Izaya have been replaced by imposters. But the numerous fights they've had reassure her that she's not losing her head.

Her phone buzzes. [ _Celty, my darling, would you mind giving me a ride home? My train just got here. And how is everything going?_ ] She turns to Shizuo, sleeping on the couch and then taps a reply.

[I'll see you in a little bit. Things are okay.] Grabbing her helmet she sends a text message to Shizuo that she'll be back in a little while, hearing his phone buzz yet he doesn't wake. Heading over to the guest room she knocks once gently, opening the door slowly to check on Izaya.

The light's on, but he's asleep—the steady rise and fall of his chest give him away easily. Celty wonders if she should wake him, but decides to leave that to after she gets back. After all, the day has been relatively quiet, meaning mostly filled with sleep for him while she watched movies with Shizuo. Strangely enough the moment she came back from texting Shinra and buying some foods and a certain item he asked for she came home to the middle of an argument. Shizuo was quieted easily enough, but Izaya was completely silent and neither would say a word of what happened. And through Shizuo's ranting, she never really got the grasp of what it was about.

It happened several more times—from what she heard it's quiet arguments that never escalated to the level of the one she broke up. Of course asking what's wrong never helps get her closer to any conclusion besides grumbling or calling each other names. What's worth fighting about she may never know. At least nothing's destroyed and no one's dead yet.

Slipping out the door, the thought remains in her mind—what's going to happen now—and it stays, no matter how much she tries to tell herself it's going to be alright. She doesn't know what Shinra's going to say and the worst part is she's powerless to do anything but listen.

It takes ten minutes after Celty's left and thirty minutes extra for Shizuo to wake up. Namely by the growling of his stomach, only to groggily remember where he is and why. (Not the best wake-up call.) And five more minutes to actually get up because it's late—fifteen minutes to the twenty-second hour—and he doesn't have work tomorrow, so that means he can sleep as late as he wants.

(But Izaya's going to be there.) It's not like he wants to think about that and yet he knows he'll have to come to terms with the agreement. Well, if the flea can somehow stay quiet without pissing him off, he won't have to worry about sleeping outside.

His head aches. In between his brows, slowly climbing up his forehead and permeating there in a bundle of aggravated nerves sending out pulses of pain with every movement he makes. Tom-san told him earlier not to stress himself out too much, already knowing that's an impossibility specifically with a flea that's going to impose his filthy existence until...he's not sure when.

Shifting up from lying on the couch, Shizuo's eyes slide to the guest room door, left slightly open and the light's turned off. His phone's fallen out of his pocket and the screen is bright with a text message from Celty, telling him she's gone to pick up Shinra. He slides his phone back in his pocket without bothering to reply, seeing as the text message is from almost an hour ago. They should be back soon, and then he can finally get on with his life to the hard part of being unable to deny Izaya's annoying existence.

His feet move for him and he's at the guest room, knocking like Celty instructed (common courtesy, Shizuo) before he pushes the door open. It's a couple seconds for his eyes to adjust and he closes the door behind himself, scowling when he flicks on the light. He squints, blinking and notices the flea hasn't moved at all. The bastard's on his back, chest rising and falling like it's a right to ignore the rest of the world. In a way, Shizuo supposes Izaya finds that it is.

"Oi, flea." Can't let him have too much fun, even if drug-induced. "Wake up. Celty and Shinra are going to be here soon." Bits and pieces of earlier in the day—all arguments—start climbing slowly into his thoughts, trickling in while his brain starts to wake up. (Not enough to realize what it's thinking.) He crosses his arms, fingers itching for a cigarette the same way the flea's twitch for a knife and he grunts, hating that he inadvertently compares himself to the flea. His foot taps on the floor, covered in a sock and he tries not to take advantage of Izaya when he's sleeping. His only reason is that the idiot can't defend himself. _Yeah, right._

More time passes and he's more than just annoyed. Izaya, sleeping or not is always annoying and ignoring Shizuo makes it worse. "Hey, flea. You can't sleep if I can't." he comments, deciding to leave his post at the door and head over to Izaya, clearly unamused.

An eye cracks open when Shizuo's at the bedside, hoping to give an effective death glare and only managing to wake Izaya. "What d'you want now...?" Izaya yawns, narrowing his eyes and Shizuo's face is far too close for his liking and he wants to reach up his right arm and push him away. But the pins and needles keeping his arm useless don't help much with his goal, so he settles his glaring to the best of his hindered abilities. Shizuo's still testy, anyway.

"Celty and Shinra are going to be here. When's the last time you ate?" Not counting this morning, Shizuo hasn't fed Izaya at all, especially after the argument that came as a product of high tension and Izaya feeling demeaned enough to demand that Shizuo leave him alone and refusing anything until Celty had to agree. Perhaps it's better when Shizuo won't try to kill Izaya with a spoon when the other's on medications and can barely move. Shizuo calls it a fair chance.

Izaya glowers. "Why do you care? Go away." he huffs, unable to come up with something else or telling Shizuo, childishly, where to shove his half-assed concern. He really has gone down the gutter, he surmises grimly. And his brain feels like it's rotting enough without medications and headaches, but Shizuo just has to be a monster. A stupid, devolved, idiotic, protozoan. He hates monsters.

"Shut up, flea. Just answer the question." Shizuo's fists are ripping crescent-shaped marks in the palms of his hands and his knuckles are white. Izaya turns away, unable to deal with stupidity and Shizu-chan at the same time for too long. His eyes glance toward the ceiling, brain trying to come up with a plausible response that doesn't already lower his intelligence.

"You realize, Shizu-chan, that you're going to have me around." he starts, closing his eyes for several seconds. The last of sleep still evades disappearing, so his eyes droop even when his brain struggles to stay awake. "You can't just threaten to kill me whenever you feel like it. Unless that's the real reason why you chose to do this." A sly smile comes to his face and Shizuo growls indignantly.

"That's not even close, but it is a benefit. Now answer my question, shitty flea." he retorts, sniffing the air. "You reek. Even worse than you usually do."

"Sure that isn't you, Shizu-chan? Because you look like a washed-out drunk—oh, wait; that's what you normally look like. And smell like." Izaya crinkles his nose, making a point of staring at Shizuo's messy bed head. Sure enough his pathetic barb has Shizuo growling like a rabid dog. He's more fitting as a monster, as dogs can be trained.

The urge to snap Izaya's neck is as prevalent as ever. Fingers pressing and wrapping around the pale flesh, squeezing in with enough pressure to bruise and break anything that lies beneath them. He can picture it, the carnage of watching Izaya choke and gurgle and gasp for air that only Shizuo can deny him. It's a paradox because it's calming at the same time it makes him want to kill the shitty flea more—his palms are bleeding again and if he imagines them as the flea's throat he squeezes harder. Ignoring the sparks of pain it brings he tries to calm himself down, imagining what he'd _love_ to do to Izaya. Killing him would be too merciful.

"When did you last eat." It's not much of a question but a command that demands an answer. Izaya raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed at Shizuo's display of self-control that seems just so flimsy. The annoying (sad) thing is that his stomach's still cramping from what Shizuo shoved down his throat earlier and he hasn't eaten since, refusing Celty and saying that Shizuo already gave him something. It feels like poison the way it sits in his stomach and gurgles in a disgusting way that makes him more nauseous. And _no,_ Celty, ootoro would not solve anything because yes, surprisingly enough, he doesn't want any. If anything, it would make the pain worse. But it isn't as if Shizuo can understand such a thing. His brain's too smooth for that.

"Whenever this afternoon was." Izaya waves it off with a lie that comes much easier than the truth. It's always been that way. And sometimes he wonders what Shinra's thinking by letting Shizuo take care of him. "Satisfied?" Shizuo has to acknowledge it (he's so stupid it's not even funny anymore) with a grunt and his brown eyes are off of Izaya, finally ceasing from burning holes into his flesh.

Conversation falls silent, yet again, between the two for several minutes until the sound of Shinra's excited babbling starts echoing throughout the walls. The front door opens from what both of them can hear and Shinra's asking how Izaya's doing to Celty, who is silent without the voice function. Izaya's eyes narrow—Shizuo sees the bored expression leak onto his supposedly neutral expression from the corner of his eye.

"Shizuo-kun! Good to see you again." Shinra greets with the door swinging open and Celty trailing behind. She gives a short wave to Shizuo who nods back, turning his attention back to Shinra and stepping away from the silent Izaya (today's just full of surprises) when Shinra moves to the bed. "You look better, Izaya." Shinra states, reaching over Izaya to adjust the beside monitor.

[How are you?] Celty types to Shizuo while Shinra's busying himself, starting to ask questions to Izaya. Shizuo glances back at the bed—Izaya's irritated face is priceless and he can't help but try and hide a laugh—before he comes back to the conversation.

"Fine. The flea's not dead yet." he monotones, not fond of the many fights he's anticipating to come in the future. Celty seems to appreciate his efforts, though.

[Thank you. I know it's hard, but he really needs it.] Celty types, trying and failing to express herself in type but it's better than the female voice on her PDA.

"Please excuse me my dear Celty, but I need to speak with Izaya alone for a little bit." Shinra's smiling in a way that makes Shizuo's stomach churn because he's planning something and it's creepy how he gives Shizuo a knowing look. Celty nods, heading out with Shizuo trailing behind. When the door shuts with a click, Shinra's smile fades.

"How have you been?" he asks Izaya, checking the IV in his right arm and the low fluid level in the drip he's attached to. His voice is a lot calmer than his usual excitement and it has Izaya questioning what he's planning as a reflex. Shinra knows this as he's a lot more perceptive than credited for.

"Fine." Izaya sighs and for once it's not dramatic. He blames the tiredness that won't leave him for the decreased level of personality he can display at once.

Shinra prods his left arm, carefully using his fingers to check the cast. "Does this hurt? Is the cast too tight?" He slides cooled fingers against the crease of the cast, checking for any space and deeming it acceptable. Izaya tries not to squirm, heavily uncomfortable already with the touching. He hates the burning residue that's left behind wherever Shinra's fingers touch his skin.

"I can't feel it." Izaya supplies unhelpfully with a pout. Shinra nods, careful not to move the arm too much as he checks the swelling.

"You're not supposed to, yet. Come tomorrow, you will." he agrees. "Have you had any headaches, nausea, tingling sensation or burning anywhere?"

"Headaches and nausea. My arms and legs are asleep, so it doesn't help any." Izaya sighs, forcing down a yawn that threatens to escape. Shinra stops from splaying out Izaya's broken fingers to look at him.

"What from? How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?" he sounds genuinely concerned, but Izaya knows it's only from the doctor side of him and he could honestly care less, if at all.

"All day." he grinds his teeth and wants to get this examination done and over with while Shinra's dragging it out as long as possible. He hates not being in control.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes." he snaps with more force than necessary. Shizuo's done more than enough besides shoveling shit down his throat that burns like fire. "The soup makes me ill. What did you do, poison it?"

Shinra jabs his hand for good measure and Izaya's breath catches in an attempt to cover up the reaction to pain. "It's not Celty's wonderful cooking; don't insult her like that. Your stomach's probably not used to richer foods like it was. When did you last eat?"

"When Shizu-chan forced it down my throat this afternoon." he admits because he doesn't see much harm when he's too tired to put up a fight. He's always so tired and it's like dragging himself in waves that keep pushing him back and down until he can't breathe anymore. Shinra, on the other hand, doesn't look pleased.

"Shizuo-kun's a bit rough, but you already know that." he's picking up on Izaya's fatigue, watching the dulled expression on his face start to soften. "The nausea will be common in eating again, so you're just going to have to get through it. How long has the headache been present, and where at?"

"Everywhere." Izaya groans, Shinra's fingers drifting to the bump on the left side of his head and screwing his eyes shut when he presses at the wrong spot. Shinra mumbles an apology but Izaya's still feeling bitter.

"It may be a side effect of the medication you're on, as well as stress. But if it persists into tomorrow night, I want you to call me immediately." Shinra manages to lift Izaya's head up to examine the wound that's been bandaged underneath his hair and satisfied to find it clean when he peels it back. The infection that was there looks to be gone. "And I want you to eat tonight when you get back with Shizuo-kun, because he'll be calling me after you do. If you don't, you're going to sit in a hospital with a feeding tube. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother." Izaya rolls his eyes and is helpless to do anything but answer the stupid questions and let Shinra poke and prod him. Until, that is, Shinra reaches for the blanket. And Izaya's right hand grabs him before his fingers touch the surface in a surprisingly ruthless grip.

"The bruises." Shinra reminds him, feeling his circulation being cut off. "There are bruises on your stomach. I wanted to make sure that there's no internal injury." Warily Izaya lets go, eyes narrowing while Shinra makes a show of slowly pulling the blanket back and letting the informant lift his shirt (reluctantly and with a death glare that would cause a holocaust) to expose the ugly discoloration of his skin.

Shinra sighs, gently examining each while he can feel Izaya's muscles tensing or the seizing of his entire body from the areas covered in ugly purple. They look a lot worse, but Shinra knows it's only because they're healing.

"Any abdominal pain or discomfort, besides from eating?" he asks, hearing a nearly inaudible negative before he's satisfied after poking some more. He lets Izaya deal with the borrowed shirt, giving back the head of the blanket and moving his broken leg. "You're going to have to move around in a wheelchair, which I had Celty pick up for you earlier. But for a couple weeks I don't want you moving much at all if you can."

Izaya mutters an expletive that isn't pretty and Shinra pretends he doesn't hear. "Pain, discomfort, any of the works on your leg?" Sliding the blanket up more he sees Izaya's bare right leg tense as if to kick him, and Shinra decides for his own safety to clamp a hand down on his ankle. Izaya's initial surprise is masked by sheer annoyance. Shinra decides it's for everyone's safety and that he doesn't necessarily care if Izaya's angry. He'd rather not have a black eye and he's already been generous enough, loaning Izaya a shirt and shorts.

"No," he replies, voice a little lighter than it should be and warning signs are going off in Shinra's head. Looking up he notices Izaya's looking paler than usual.

"Something wrong?" he asks, palm against Izaya's scowling forehead and feels the slightly elevated temperature, but the paleness, he concludes, is probably from low blood sugar. Izaya shakes his head with his eyes closed, leaving Shinra to continue making sure his leg isn't swollen further. Several more minutes of silence and Shinra's finishing up with Izaya's leg. "Oh, did you eat the ootoro Celty bought you? Simon wanted you to have it."

"No." Izaya's face wrinkles in disgust. His stomach is caught between a growl and a cramp so he can't be entirely sure if he's about to vomit or not. The richness of the broth was more than enough even as he hates it. Unlikely for Izaya to ever turn down ootoro, but this time happens to be not any regular time and he'd rather not eat when his entire body is contributing to his bad mood. Shinra gives him another look as he's finishing up but doesn't comment. Finally.

"All done." Shinra pulls the blanket back, feeling Izaya's annoyance but uncaring. "Looks like you'll be okay to leave, so I'll finish up and then you can. I just have a couple questions." Izaya rolls his eyes, but he looks expectantly at Shinra who has planned this but the moment he's going to bring them to light they die on his tongue. Oops. "First, how are you feeling? Not physically, but, you know..." he struggles for the word, "mentality-wise. Angry, depressed, anything? I know I'm the last person you'd tell besides Shizuo-kun, but it would help to know." Izaya's brow raises even higher and it looks as if he's about to laugh until he does, bitterly.

"Fine, Shinra." he sighs; eyes don't meet Shinra's and he closes them, exhaling softly. The conversation they had yesterday is probably on his mind and that's why he's bothering with the stupid questions. Yes, Izaya as a god happens to have a dead mind—not like anyone will understand what he says in the first place.

Shinra doesn't meet his eyes. Something's on his mind and bothering the way he thinks. "Have you had any anxiety?" The panic attack Izaya had yesterday reminds him of this question, knowing with food that Izaya may have problems. His friend reminded him to continually ask, so he might as well start now.

"If Shizu-chan counts, then that's it." Izaya's a horrible liar when he's tired. It's not the tone of his voice which is convincing even though it's faint, but the way he won't look anywhere but at the floor. So that's a yes, then. And by Shinra's guess, it's with the broth that's still bothering him. He hopes Celty's briefing Shizuo well so they can make progress in this.

"Thought so. Last question or two really, and then I'll go get your wheelchair." Shinra smiles gently that isn't too blinding, but reassuring. Like he's completely forgotten what's in Izaya's pocket of his borrowed shorts. They've already traded off and it's one of the frustrating things Izaya doesn't know why Shinra does what he does. The look of the smile makes Izaya want to empty the contents of his stomach because of how much he hates the saccharine bullshit when he's not the one using it. Can't trust anyone, he reminds himself. Even if they're telling the truth, he'll never believe anything. "First one is the one we've talked about. Who did this to you?" While he's talking Shinra stills Izaya's right arm, pulling out the IV and quickly bandaging the insertion site. The bedside monitor is switched off and the pulse ox is unclasped from his finger.

Izaya remains silent with eyes glued to the floor, thinking before he speaks. "Another time, Shinra." But for some reason he's not arrogant. Not brushing off the question even when he's (somewhat) told Celty but for the reason is that he doesn't know. And when he tries to remember, his head aches and throbs spreading from the back. Luckily, Shinra knows when to let it go—for now. It's inevitable to not say when he's this dependent.

"Fine, fine." Shinra waves it off, letting it go and finding himself slightly concerned for Izaya's pale face. He helps Izaya sit up, noticing the winces he tries to stave off but some slip through and Shinra keeps a steadying arm on his left shoulder though it's injured. "I need an answer for this one. Will you agree to a treatment plan, or do I need to force you?" For what is unvoiced and they should both know. Because Izaya is Izaya, he has to be a troll somehow.

"For what?" he asks, innocently despite the blood draining from his face. The bone of his shoulder stabs into Shinra's hand and it's a silent acknowledgment. He'd rather not come to terms with it but for Izaya he does.

"I think you know what I'm talking about." Shinra replies sagely, sounding unlike himself when his voice becomes flat. Izaya's silent once again, considering thinking for the answer he's about to give. On one hand he hopes Izaya can choose to be cooperative but even he knows the answer to that and Izaya's lack of concern for himself is only normal. What he's doing though, Izaya can't overlook.

"...We'll talk." his head hangs and his hair covers his eyes that close—not defeat, he wants to fiercely reprimand any doubt that comes to Shinra's mind—and his eyes close, exhaling a rough sigh. Heavy conversation topics aren't what he normally prefers, especially when they're about him.

"Let's get you going, then." Shinra smiles reassuringly once again, and Izaya's head starts to swim with the situations he's going to face outside of the door. It's not pleasant—Shizu-chan really isn't—and he'd rather not do this. But there's little he can do when Shinra has already decided for him, sending a text to Celty to bring in what he assumes to be the wheelchair. How degrading, Shinra.

"Hey, Izaya," he comments, looking toward the door when Celty knocks once and it swings open silently. She rolls in a wheelchair, like a messenger to Izaya's predeclared fate. It's the beacon of what he'll never be able to escape and like that it's one of the irritating things he can't control.

"It's going to be okay."

He hopes, numbly, that Shinra's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday strikes again! And editing the entire story of Edge, I hope it's much smoother now. Thankfully I've gotten this (more or less) on time, so here we are at chapter seven. It's quite long, so I do hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Important news update too - No cancer. Just an abnormal mass that gets removed tomorrow, joy. But in all seriousness, thank you so much for your concerns. And until next time, everyone.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	8. No Promise to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity at its finest. Or attempted murder.

_~_

 

... _If I stay, w_ _hat does it mean to you when you leave_ _?_

  
Ironically, the first thing that happens when they reach Shizuo's apartment isn't an argument. It's the sudden scandalized look on Izaya's blank face and five seconds after Celty's left, he doubles over in his new wheelchair and vomits on the floor. And it sets Shizuo off like a bomb that doesn't need a fuse with barbs forming on his tongue, bracing for another argument. The abomination of bile and undigested soup stains his floor, steadily increasing like his temper he's been trying to keep under wraps. But enough is enough, and Shizuo's veins are popping in his ears.

Until Izaya's done dry heaving when nothing's left, aching and most certainly with a sour look on his face Shizuo's anger gets the best of him and he finds himself reaching for the nearest object. Already a growl is building in his throat and he wants to throw the flea out the nearest window for being the asshole that has to spite him. And the plans to murder Izaya swarm his head like angered wasps, buzzing and stinging until he stomps over and has to readjust himself when he realizes what he's doing. Izaya's slumping forward, head bowed while he regains his breathing but with his extensive injuries he can barely move.

And Izaya beats him to speaking first, rasping and lifting his head with a wince. "I hate you, Shizu-chan." Shizuo's veins are snapping at a furious rate and he snarls to himself, trying to remember Celty's numerous warnings. But Izaya is the most annoying thing that can trigger his anger he's ever dealt with. It just isn't fair, but there's not much of a choice when Tom-san already agrees to what he's doing. Call it _a chance to start over_. Psh, whatever. At least he gets paid out of the deal. Quite handsomely, he may add.

"What did I do? You threw up on my floor!" Shizuo snaps, turning his back to the kitchen to retrieve cleaning supplies. His landlord isn't going to be happy with this, he reminds himself grimly. Not just because of the smell, too, if this continues to happen. He bets that Izaya's laughing to himself and when he hears the dry cough that sounds like laughter, he has to keep himself—firmly—from punching in the shitty flea's face.

"You monster. Of course you're going to blame me for what I _can't_ control at the moment." Izaya accuses, wiping his mouth with his right hand and scrunching his nose. From his wheelchair—damn the annoying thing he's confined to—he watches Shizuo get on his knees (hilarious with his angry expression, too) and scrub up the mess, making a point of not looking even though it's entirely liquid. Shizuo's muttering to himself, probably death threats because only Izaya knows him that well and when he finishes, he looks at Izaya like the informant killed his parents. Izaya cackles hoarsely, knowing Shizuo's childish temper all too well.

"I fucking hate you, shitty flea." he states, leaving to move the dirty wash rags to a basket to wash later. The laundry room's downstairs, and he doesn't feel like doing much of anything besides washing his hands and kicking Izaya's ass.

"Go die, Shizu-chan." Izaya calls cheerfully, hiding the next aggravated growl from his stomach with his right arm. His tongue and mouth still burn—doesn't even want to start on the acid in his nose, ew—and the smell is making him even more nauseous. But there's so little he can do it's more frustrating being in this situation than being with Shizu-chan, of all things. So he sighs pensively, waiting for Shizuo to hurry up and just make this as painless as possible. Even though that's an impossibility for stupid monsters.

"What?" Shizuo asks flippantly, bringing Izaya back from his scowling and he sees the annoyed expression Izaya has and questions what's up with the flea. Since he has to take care of him, that's all. "Are you still sick?" He sprays something foul-smelling with the odor of chemicals scorching its way into Izaya's nose to fit in with the acid that's already there. Life is not going well for one disabled informant.

Disregarding that this—everything from being disabled to _Shizuo_ , of all people to volunteer to take care of him like he's a child that needs to be coddled—is frustrating and demeaning to a god's pride. "Very, you idiot. I need—" another wave of nausea strikes and his lips press into a fine line, swallowing thickly. There's nausea right in the back of his throat and even though Shizuo's looking like an idiot (as always) with a stare, Izaya can't finish his own sentence when the threat of vomiting again is far too close for comfort. He thinks that instead he can try and motion for Shizuo to get it until his right hand clamps his mouth shut, exhaling sharply.

Shizuo tries to imagine what the idiot flea is doing, noticing that Izaya's face looks paler and it clicks. He moves to the wheelchair and pushes Izaya into his kitchen to grab a container and thrust it into Izaya's lap with animosity pushing into the bruises he doesn't notice are underneath the shirt.. "If you're going to throw up, do it in this. I'm getting you some water; try not to throw up." He turns, grabbing a plastic cup—Izaya sees that Shizuo has very poor taste from the contents of his cupboard—and filling it with tap water. When he moves back to facing Izaya who is attempting to kill him with a measly death glare, his focus is not on Izaya. Instead, it looks like he's actually attempting to think. Then he turns back around, grabbing several napkins from his tiny counter top and then shoving the water into Izaya's face. "Rinse your mouth out, flea."

And he forgets that as much as Izaya would prefer to, his right arm isn't as functional as Izaya would like it to be. He makes a disgruntled noise, clearly annoyed as if he hasn't been all day and night. "Shizu-chan, I..." _can't,_ is what he doesn't want to admit. His voice may be mocking and sarcastic, but he can't swallow past admitting defeat. Especially not to the brute he's hated since the universe was created. _Why_ does he have to be in this situation in the first place? It's not even funny enough—more pathetic like revenge—to be considered a cruel joke. Just cruel. Undoubtedly Shizuo would argue that Izaya is, too, but there's the part that they would both agree with, and it means having to tolerate each other in some form of humiliation.

"Oh, yeah." Shizuo remarks absently, gripping the cup tighter when he remembers something. Izaya's glare dares him to say it, or even so much as think it (although he can't really make threats besides making Shizuo's life a living hell) and Shizuo being the idiot he is ignores it or doesn't notice. At least he doesn't say anything when he tips the cup's edge to Izaya's mouth. Then there's silence, letting Izaya fill his mouth before he pushes Shizuo's hand away, turning to spit in the container while Shizuo decides to look away much to his disgust. And the silence drags on save for a gagging noise or two when Shizuo tips the cup a little too much and Izaya splutters, coughing with water clogging his throat and glaring when he catches his breath. Shizuo returns it, watching Izaya's eyebrow rise as if to challenge him. Cracks begin to form in the cup until Izaya's hand suddenly moves over his.

"Stop it, you monster." Izaya grumbles, opting not to look Shizuo in the eyes while he drinks from the cup, swallowing carefully under Shizuo's more than intense and possibly murderous stare. Shizuo's fingers are shaking under his and Izaya—could really care less, if at all—cannot possibly maneuver the cup to swallow water with all the twitching. So he gives up, letting go of Shizuo's twitchy fingers (who would've thought, does Izaya make him that nervous?) and pushing his hand away.

"You still need to eat tonight." He's got to be joking. After the wonderful display of his insides and a near one-sided screaming match? Shizuo is dumber than Izaya credits him for, he's starting to think. "And Shinra already told me that...that would happen. But you still have to take pills, and you can't do it on an empty stomach." he clears his throat, dumping the cup in the sink and leaning against it while Izaya sits in his wheelchair. Clearly this is hilarious to one of them, because Shizuo's lips are curling in a smile and it makes Izaya's eye twitch.

"Shizu-chan, you're kidding." Izaya rolls his eyes, feeling exhaustion pull and tug at his eyes and he blinks, taking longer than usual. "You saw that little _display,_ " he hisses, grinding his teeth together when he sees Shizuo look like he's going to laugh like the _utter idiot_ he is, "so I doubt you'd want me to stain your floors again, unless you're into that sort of thing." This is humiliating and Izaya won't admit it, even if Shizuo breaks his legs. Of course the blond monster has to make this more annoying than it needs to be, but maybe that's his nature and Izaya isn't angry. Just annoyed. Monsters can't affect gods like that.

Shizuo doesn't get the hint. Or he never will, that is. "Don't think I don't know, flea. I'll kick your smarmy little ass if you put up a fight. But first, you reek. So you're getting a bath." he decides, and by the finality of his tone Shizuo's not open to negotiation. Izaya isn't open to stupid, but he still tolerates it somehow and for some stupid reason.

"Ne, ne, Shizu-chan," just to be annoying while he grits his teeth and curls the fingers of his right hand, "you think you're going to bathe me? Ha, nice try. Go die." Why is Shizuo doing this besides with the murderous intent of drowning him—for Izaya, nonetheless? Does he think he's getting something—Izaya's eyes narrow, of _course_ , and he bets it's Shinra who bribes him into this. Probably as a cruel joke, because he's still angry for what he's done. So what? No reason to take out this slow revenge on him like a child.

"And you think you're going to do it yourself?" Shizu-chan, the asshole. He just has to bring this up again, making a sweeping gestures at yes _,_ Izaya can see that he's almost completely paralyzed. Shut up, Shizu-chan. It's not like he can be any better than one good arm Izaya has with his brute strength and lack of control which will end in killing him. Snapping him in half should do for the protozoan. Especially when Izaya can't even pick up a knife (speaking of which, where did that go?) and have a turn to carve Shizuo's face into that smile making fun of him.

"Watch me." Izaya spits, hissing and about feral when Shizuo pads back over, grasping the handle of the wheelchair behind Izaya and tilting it dangerously back so Izaya's head falls back painfully and he's staring into brown eyes. Shizuo does not look amused. Even though he's almost paralyzed he struggles, quieting the gasps from squirming and pulling at the bruises lining his abdomen and frustrated when Shizuo raises an eyebrow, watching him with those ugly brown eyes of his.

Shizuo leans in close, inches away from Izaya's face as he looks down and his glare is hard, cutting and dangerous with the strength he's forcing himself to keep back until it bursts. "Don't fuck with me, flea. I'm doing this, and you can sit down and shut up for once, or I'll drown you in the sink. Whatever works with you. But you decide that now." his voice is low, menacing and rumbling like a growl of a predator about to strike. Izaya wonders exactly when he fell into this trap of the lion's den. And as much as he'd like to cut up Shizuo's ugly monster face, he refuses to admit he's caught. This isn't over yet. But Shizuo's eyes flicker to the sink—is he serious—and come back to Izaya, waiting far too patiently for that much anger Izaya can see. How interesting.

"Go ahead," Izaya snarls, "drown me in the sink. Enjoy it, because it's your one and only chance. I'm not playing games either, Shizu-chan." He's completely serious, eyes hardening into a glare while he retreats into the taunting facade he normally has. Shizuo thinks he strikes a chord, because the informant is too serious and glaring with an imitation of a death glare. Despite that, Izaya's neck is probably aching as Shinra's said not to aggravate him too much, or his movements. However with the flea, it's not a hard thing to do (so he thinks) when it's him. It always has to be him, doesn't it.

_Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, damn it, kill—_

"Me." Go right on ahead, Shizu-chan.

It takes a second for Shizuo to realize he's just said his train of thought (one of them, express and chugging black smoke over his eyes) and when he blinks—Izaya just said that, right—to clear away the fog, he sees. And too much at once, letting the wheelchair go and it bounces on the floor, making Izaya wince. Izaya's staring, waiting patiently like they're talking about the weather; almost bored and face paler than it has been all night. Solemn, and Shizuo's starting to think this isn't the flea. Izaya doesn't add on when he's already said enough, waiting for the inevitable of possibly being crushed to death (fingers curling, windpipes cut through just like so to keep him gasping when the back of his head is struck with a metal pole. Again. Again. Again.) just by a finger, if Shizuo's really that shameless and wants to humiliate Izaya before he crumples and falls.

"What are you going on about now, flea." Shizuo sighs, retracting from Izaya and moving to grab himself a bottle of milk from his refrigerator as to deflect that they're talking about something Shizuo isn't expecting to hear from Izaya. Not especially with the level of seriousness in which Izaya's not even joking. Izaya's nose wrinkles, shrugging off Shizuo's childish tastes with a teasing smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and he's still not joking. (It's a silent warning to drop it, or else.) Shizuo's never remembered a day it has. He wonders if the flea is calling monster to the wrong person. And Izaya watches, waiting for the reaction he won't need to deal with when he can just have Shizuo get angry and frustrated, treated less and less like a human being and forcing him to over react, becoming the monster Izaya already is. Or maybe, it's all the opposite and Izaya isn't the one Shizuo is (his own breed of insecurities and misunderstandings) while it's doubtful and Shizuo can't bring himself to believe it, even if he's blackout drunk and someone tries to convince him otherwise.

It's like he can't bear to hear it. To see what's wrong.

(They both lose.)

The first place to start. Izaya's lips purse together angrily but he's silent, as if he's considering pondering this entire situation he has gotten himself into—but it's not entirely his fault—he doesn't ask for this. He never has, except for the one thing in the skimmed line of characters written on a folded flake of paper. Shinra passes the torch to him because it's not his place to play Izaya's games that despite his best efforts, he's losing at. He knows so much more than Shizuo knows; not just information but about himself—isn't what they're fighting over? He's the reason they hate each other—from the scars trickling down his wrist (right, because Izaya is left-handed) from ugly purple-red-pink to white discolorations and down to the cracking skin around his hipbones and a waist smaller with the days that pass. It's how he wins a game with himself and no one is around to stop him, or bother to. So why not, he figures when he forgets what it is to be normal.

Pah, normal. Like he needs such tediousness.

Izaya mutters under his breath. Shizuo doesn't ask twice, nodding his head even though he doesn't know the words—they both understand it's an admittance of acceptance. Head held high, refusing to give in but forcing to acknowledge that he needs help. More than he wants it, and Shizuo accepts it as quietly as Izaya silently asks not to fuss about it and there starts the next intensely awkward and gripping silence that makes Shizuo's skin crawl. There's nothing more he can honestly do when Izaya's this tired and they're going to be like this for a long time. Better to get used to it now (what's on the other side) before one of them slits the other's throat from hatred. They can't play games with sand in their eyes and skin rubbed raw, waiting for the fleshy bullets of insults and blows to beat them down into manageable forms of themselves to hide away and fix whatever breaks, be it masks or control or tempers to broken arms and other bones, grating and itchy with play box sand. Maybe then, they really haven't grown up yet.

Shizuo chugs the milk, waiting for it to kick in like drugs for a long night. With every gulp his throat bobs with the pronounced bulge of his larynx as muscles come alive, taking what comes and he doesn't focus on dealing with his arch enemy, like milk can be his escape. And it's childish that way but it works. Izaya watches, seeing how beastly Shizuo can be with a bottle of milk like sucking blood—every last drop—from a human being. He's not desperate, but he's greedy and he drinks without a second thought to taste, knowing what it is like already and without recognizing the consequences of shooting up for a high, he goes for it and forgets to savor it.

This is why Shizuo is a monster. Or, at least one reason. He exists, but he doesn't _live. (Within the confines of humanity, making this world turn with the normalcy of a god's humans: he loves all of them.)_ Passing days bring only more confusion because Izaya is exceedingly intelligent but he can't crack the code of what is Shizuo Heiwajima, the monster disguised as a man who always keeps him guessing and he can't be read like a book. The pages are missing, torn and leaking ink the way Izaya bleeds after a well-placed hit that leaves him spinning before he hits and scrapes the ground, dripping blood from wherever Shizuo manages to hit him. And then he stomps up, demanding ransom for what Izaya catches glimpses of and it's only anger, but he doesn't win and while Shizuo might not, he's further ahead by too many steps.

Hates him. Hates what he can't categorize and shove out of his mind. Hates—"Come on, I guess you should get a bath before you do anything else." Hands move and Izaya doesn't say much when his wheelchair pushes down a hallway to—the feeling of grasping his own string of life, everything he ever is and then having it cut and fraying a little more each day. Izaya spaces out in his own little world, forgetting the meaning of having his limbs throb and ache a little more with every breath he takes he wants to take from Shizu-chan, or give it back to wherever it comes from when he shouldn't have much time left. It's not fair it has to hurt so much that he has to take things into his own measures when he knows he doesn't control how long people believe in a god—the god believes in himself until his faith crumbles—and he can't take the risk of stepping back and admitting that he's wrong more than he wants to be.

Shizuo opens the door to the bathroom which is tiny but it has a decent-sized bathtub, pushing Izaya in and careful to close the door behind them. "Okay, Celty told me what to do...but..." he pauses, eyes darting away when Izaya's open and red eyes stare, waiting for what Shizuo's possibly trying to say. Perhaps he's embarrassed, going by that shade of pink that dusts his cheeks ever so faintly Izaya holds a snicker back before his stomach can hurt from it. "Uh...if you need me to help you, just let me know. I have to be here, so..."

Izaya wants to laugh, but he smirks instead. "Shizu-chan is such a pervert." Before Shizuo can protest angrily with his fists clenched and poising to strike, he raises his right hand despite the pang that shoots through his shoulder. "You have to help me, because I can't move much at all, Shizu-chan." He smiles, fake and unlike the cheery beam Shinra uses and Shizuo's eyes narrow when he catches the subtle message caught between breaths.

"Fine, fine. Hold still." he replies flippantly, hesitating for several moments afterward and he stills, as if waiting for Izaya's snakebite strike at his hands that twitch and finger the hem of his pockets. The flea stares, waiting patiently and biting his bottom lip with narrowing eyes when he doesn't see any progress happening. Of course Shizuo's waiting, unsure as to doing this—touching his enemy, taking off his clothes like this is some debauched scam Erika can come up with—and not comfortable enough to pretend it's someone else when those red eyes pierce as long as they stare. Izaya can't do anything physically, but Shizuo's had enough of being fucked with to keep his hands away unless he can crush Izaya. That's the only purpose he's ever had of touching and he hates the coldness of Izaya's hands when a knife is precariously held against his throat in a standoff of one of their numerous chases. Panting and Izaya is _freezing cold_ at his back or pinned to the wall, daring Shizuo to kill him. For some reason, Izaya limps away and Shizuo washes the blood out of his clothes and sleeps to forget losing himself to a bastard like Izaya.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya breathes, holding a breath and a sigh mixing together when his boredom is too much and he's cold. "Just help me. And give me a towel to cover myself." He says nonchalantly but his fingers are shaking too. They're purple and with the lack of circulation the skin is freezing cold. And very much unwilling to touch his own skin covering itself in goosebumps with every second that passes by and growing colder and more irritable. Shizuo's eyes are on him as they have been, yet this time he's forcing himself to return back to what he has to face: the inevitable.

Shizuo can think of stupid retorts he always comes up with at the tip of his tongue before he has time to think—he's not an idiot at all, just bored with fighting—and this time he stays helpfully silent. Izaya has to catch his wrist with shaking fingers that sap the heat from a blond monster's skin to bring the monstrous hand to the shirt swallowing Izaya. His hand drops away, and Shizuo's other hand joins before he carefully pulls the hem. Mindful of his own strength he tries to be as gentle as he can, hearing Izaya's baited breaths—what is he waiting for—and slowly pulling the fabric up. When he hits the first sign of skin, it's like Izaya suddenly turns to stone because he freezes, as if remembering something that happens to be important.

"Don't look." Izaya suddenly commands, voice empty but firm. But his hands shake and the microscopic crack in a mask of indifference showing ugly emotion means Shizuo can see it and perceive it and Izaya never knows the full extent of how much Shizuo can see. If he did, it would be more than devastating and leaving to destruction of Ikebukuro. Shizuo's smart enough to keep it to himself after all these years, having the ability to see straight through Izaya at times Izaya can't even figure himself out.

"Why not?" Shizuo pulls up further where the pale skin of Izaya's abdomen is turning darker. What's going on he thinks is just a shadow, but it's irregular and Izaya squirms to the best of his abilities. It raises his curiosity and so he pulls up further despite Izaya's protests, and careful enough to never brush his fingers against Izaya's skin so they can maintain the distance of hatred so hands don't slip and neither dies in Shizuo's bathroom.

"Shizu-chan, stop it! Don't—" Izaya starts, fussing and trying with his right hand to push away the hands that aren't his own and are wandering too close for his comfort. Being the monster he is Shizuo doesn't stop. He pulls Izaya's shirt carefully off, ending with the slit sleeve of the left arm that catches on the cast before it comes out easily. Like tension building, with the final tug it climaxes, waiting for the reactions of both of them when Shinra's loaned shirt is in Shizuo's hand and Izaya's chest is completely bare. Except for the shades of red, blue, purple, and black that decorate his sides and stretch across his abdomen, making patterns of hands and strange markings from different sources as they dot Izaya's skin with each gruesome story to tell grasping all the way up to his throat and stopping where the yellowish spots reaching his jawline have faded enough to hide in the shadows.

These are bruises. Varying shades of color and size, but they're all hideous and they stand out easily on Izaya's pale skin, accentuating the noticeable curve of Izaya's ribs poking through his skin. And then they're both quiet, but Shizuo never stays quiet for long before he's talking again, but this time his voice is dry. "What...are these from?"

"You should know, idiot." Izaya accuses in a murmur, angry and face turning a shade of tinged color when he swears it's because he's cold. That works in his reasoning when he suddenly shivers, reminding himself of how cold he is. "Would you hurry up already? I'm cold." he complains, crossing his right arm lazily over his stomach to cover some of the bruises, but it's far from ignoring the problem with denial.

"Maybe I don't," Shizuo hisses in defiance, keeping his twitching fingers away from examining closer. All of them look painful and he's now starting to connect the times Izaya has flinched or winced whenever he moves too much. And despite the initial shock, he doesn't remember Shinra at all telling him Izaya is covered in so many marks. With taking the flea as his responsibility—it's his right to know, damn it—Shinra hasn't said much at all when it comes to the flea himself instead of what he's not supposed to do specifically under contract. This all feels like a stupid game Izaya has set up, and he wants to call it that. "Where did you get these bruises, Izaya- _kun_?" he demands, lowering his voice into a threatening rumble when Izaya refuses to look at him anywhere near his eyes. The flea's already angry enough with having to suffer this far in humiliation and all Shizuo does is makes it worse than it can possibly already be.

"Stop it!" Izaya snaps, "I'm tired, you protozoan. So finish up doing whatever Shinra told you to so you can leave me alone and you can get back to making fun of me when I'm not as tired as I am now. But would you stop this game of yours and move on already?" he hisses pointedly, almost like a cat without ears flattening against his head when he glares frostily at Shizuo. And he thinks he probably makes everything worse with insulting the stupid brute who will more than likely roar like the beast he is and try to kill Izaya without a moment's hesitation. At least, that's what he presumes will happen.

Although it doesn't. When he thinks Shizuo's fist is rising to strike him he ducks his face away on instinct. The blow doesn't come and somehow he's opening his eyes _almost_ incredulously, confused and sees Shizuo reaching across him to grab a towel from the rack beside him. He hands it to Izaya, placing it on the informant's lap and his eyes don't meet the red ones challenging his to return the questioning gaze. It's obvious Shizuo doesn't want to have this conversation—the tables are turned—and neither does Izaya in particular, but with Shizuo behaving how he doesn't expect the beast to, it's hard not to be curious.

"Cover yourself." Shizuo speaks quietly, drained of anger and sounding more tired than he looks. Izaya complies with his one hand, hating how he has to drape a towel over himself and he halts when he has to pull down his shorts. Though Shizuo waits, patiently (what's going on Izaya is completely lost in the strange behavior) almost for Izaya to forget the humiliation and push his shorts down far enough to his knees for Shizuo to pull the rest of the way off. The brute has yet to say anything other than just simply giving orders, which makes Izaya's head spin because _it shouldn't be this way_ and why is a monster acting like a human being? Stop it, Shizu-chan. Stop it right now because he's not supposed to be doing or saying these things when he should be back to humiliating Izaya while bound to a wheelchair. Shizuo, however, keeps continuing with more surprises underway. "There's enough ledge on the bathtub to keep your arm and leg up. You can't let the casts get wet, so I won't fill it up the entire way."

Izaya stops, frustrated by this point and just has to say something before he gets the best of himself with thinking and analyzing where he makes mistakes. "And am I supposed to bathe with this towel on? I don't want you to see me, Shizu-chan. Because it'll make you a pervert." His barbs are weak and as half-assed as tired as he is. What's wrong with him is only one of many questions swimming in the haze of his mind slowly coming out of the drug-inducing numbness.

Shizuo growls under his breath. There's the monster. "I won't look, stupid shitty flea, if you're so worried about it. You can wash yourself after I finish up." With a tone that means the decision is final Shizuo doesn't let Izaya have time to react before he moves an arm above the small of the flea's back and his other under his thighs, supporting the broken limbs and navigating careful to the bathtub. Starting the water with his foot Izaya's still squirming, but is unable to find the words that rush to the back of his tongue and sit numbly while it breaks down into bitter aftertaste. He can't really complain, especially with as vulnerable as he is now and sarcasm doesn't always mix well with Shizuo. Because he's a monster, and that's the only reason Izaya will state to himself when he doesn't care all that much for excuses.

The tub fills with water deemed warm enough, steam rising from the surface and they're both silent under the hiss of rushing water. Izaya's shaking in his grasp—from the cold, Shizuo thinks—and when the water rises just enough but not as far as it's going to be, Shizuo grunts to get the flea's attention. "I'm gonna put you in. Don't move." Izaya's shaking freezes and he turns his head to stare wide-eyed at Shizuo, opening his mouth to protest but is quickly disrobed while Shizuo's looking away at the floor, lowering Izaya down into the water and stops when he hears the pained hiss. "Flea?" he asks, but his eyes stay on the curled toes of Izaya's right foot while he adjusts the cast of his left leg.

"G-Get me a bag or something, for my casts." Izaya groans, twitching and Shizuo holds him tightly while he takes his time, lowering Izaya in because the hot water on his bruises and scrapes screams against the rough skin. Izaya won't voice it as stubborn as he is and Shizuo knows from the way he trembles uncontrollably it hurts too much to voice it and the sting echoes the same way Izaya bites his lip and it bleeds when it splits. Shizuo gauges how much further he can go by how Izaya moves. If he hisses and freezes or he trembles too much too fast, Shizuo stops and is careful when he hears the pained groans that slip out despite Izaya's intentions.

Izaya sits, reclining in the tub with his damaged limbs carefully placed close to Shizuo while the water keeps running. It's slow, so Shizuo has time to excuse himself and grab garbage bags from his kitchen, forgetting to think when thinking isn't required for something as weird and horrifying as this. Izaya is naked and in his bathtub, hissing in pain and Shizuo's acting like this is normal.

If only he knew. Like the _shadows_ that grow high on the walls while the moon rises with the coming of night. Seeking to hide what comes next, in the future to wait for when the time comes. Be _fore_.

He returns, closing the door behind him with a careful click, cautious to keep his eyes averted when he approaches, following Izaya's lead when he wraps his arm carefully to protect it from the beating hot water. For his leg, Izaya takes the bag without a word but a scowl (his cheeks are faintly blushing, it's the water they'll call it) because the fight is over and they can't win what they won't speak about. It's a temporary draw and gingerly they won't fight for now. And he pulls the rest of the bag up, tightening it so the water won't seep in after Shizuo brings it up to his concealed knee. The rest of the water rises, and Shizuo's thinking the silence is the most unexpected thing he's ever heard with company over and he's not by himself. He might as well be, with Izaya who either insults him or incites his anger past what he can control—most spent on keeping himself back—and then he's left with the dregs of self-hate and disappointment for being the monster Izaya says he is.

Silence isn't unwelcome now. It's not tense but gentle like the trust Izaya's forced to have to assure himself Shizuo won't drown him right now or snap him later. That every touch they're forced to share Shizuo won't and can't hurt him. Water rises while Izaya's head rests tipped back slightly, eyes nearly closed to slits so he can keep an eye on Shizuo but too tired to do much else. Besides, it's embarrassing enough already. Shizuo is silently destroying the insults Izaya can come up with and distribute like flickblades at his head meant to harm when he doesn't act like a beast. He's more uncomfortable as Shizuo keeps acting like a human instead of a monster. Izaya hates being wrong.

A hand cups his forehead above his eyes and he opens them, waiting for a hit but then water pours onto his hair and he hisses when it reaches his scab at the back of his head covered with bandages. "Watch it, Shizu-chan." Another barb and Shizuo sighs roughly like he expects the jab and accepts it with a mutter of "whatever" and still gentle fingers prod around the area when they're not attached to the hand keeping the water out of Izaya's eyes. Just to map out the area, and they never touch the bandages which are the product of Shinra's handiwork, made to be waterproof when Shinra washed his hair before.

Shizuo rubs shampoo between his hands when Izaya's eyes go from a cold stare to almost shut and his fingers slip into wet hair, massaging it in on autopilot so he won't hurt Izaya because it's Izaya who he's doing this for. Pretends, maybe it's Kasuka when they were kids and they used to bathe together. So he thinks of that when he rubs the soap in and around the bump on the left side of Izaya's head (he doesn't notice until Izaya winces when his fingers brush it) and careful near the bandages until all of his hair is soapy and foaming as much as Izaya's breathing is shallow. To keep the illusion that he's alive, or it's from not trusting a monster— _liar_ —to not rip his head off. And they stay like that through rinse and repeat with Shizuo's fingers light but the strength buzzes behind Izaya's eyelids like the ticklish sensation of wearing glasses.

Somehow, he falls asleep while Shizuo finishes the last of conditioner and runs through the strands of hair with his fingers softly untangling the knots they find and make sure he doesn't miss anything by massaging it in. Izaya doesn't realize it like he doesn't realize Shizuo isn't treating him like Kasuka anymore—not thinking of his little brother when the hair texture and color are too different to his muscle memory—and he isn't when he thinks he's going to hurt Kasuka. Not when his archenemy is breathing quietly through his parted lips and his cheeks are a light shade of heat from the temperature of the water. Shizuo finishes and the issue of washing the rest of Izaya makes him grumble in complaint under his breath, but he does the best he can (averts his eyes, doesn't want to see) and finishes.

As the tub drains Shizuo wipes his hands off on a nearby towel, careful as he can to scoop Izaya out and wrap him in a towel (it's surprisingly difficult with two broken limbs to look out for) around his waist. It doesn't look like his sense of self is returning when he forgoes the wheelchair and in a moment of doubt or stupidity or whatever it is that keeps his fingers buzzing all the way to his head and brings Izaya to his room and onto his bed. Almost instinctively he curls into the sheets, still wet and getting them damp when Shizuo curses under his breath when he's starting to feel the first tendrils of what he's doing creep back into his conscience. This isn't how he's supposed to be—not treating the _flea_ of all people like he would for anyone else. Maybe he might do this for a close friend and for a stranger he wouldn't. But at least he isn't the monster. If anyone is, it's the one getting his sheets wet and taking his bed like he belongs there. Shizuo reminds himself of the money he's going to receive and it keeps him going (grimly, lips pressing into a frown of disgust) and the anger simmering below (to be honest, it's suddenly not...) his skin.

Changing Izaya into something to wear is another issue. While Shizuo would rather rip out all the street signs in Tokyo and launch them as far as he can, it's not something he can avoid this time. Think of the money. Think of what it means because it's going to be a while and fighting it now means headaches and regret later. As much as he doesn't want to. And he hates the flea just as much, if not more. Which means taking a shrunken shirt from his closet and a pair of shorts and shrugging them on Izaya mindfully avoiding aggravating the casts after he's taken off the bags. They crinkle as he does and Izaya doesn't wake, sleeping through everything—Shizuo's eyes staying _away_ when he peels off the towel—even after he's dressed and blankets are pulled over him. Shizuo decides he'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. Damn flea.

There's no room for dreams for if he thinks about it he'll only break whatever he touches and his anger will rise too high. And without cigarettes to snap between his fingers or his teeth. Just keeps moving, not thinking (he doesn't think as much as Izaya does, but he's not that obsessive and he can't fuck it up now) and the answer as to what he's doing now is as elusive as the next few months. He leaves after staring at the rise and fall of sheets, processing that this is happening. What he's getting himself into (gotten, falling in and there's no way back now) he isn't sure.

A text lights up his phone from Celty. [How's everything going? Are you two fighting?]

[No,] he texts, [everything's fine. The flea fell asleep earlier.] Hitting send, a wave of realization starts to crash down and his fingers itch to punch a hole in his wall. What is he doing why is the flea here why is he doing this—

[Good to hear.] Celty interrupts unaware she's interrupting a near violent fit about to boil over. [But are you okay? I know this is harder for you to do, but I know that he's not exactly the most helpful person to be around.]

No, he's not. He's confused and angry and annoyed and it's frustrating. [Annoyed. I hate the shitty flea.] Doesn't mention the embarrassment of what has already transpired because it's prone to making him rip his bleach blond hair out in rage.

[Shizuo, I know it's rough. But he needs you to be there for him, and it's going to be rough. For anything, I hope it helps patch things between you two.] Shizuo scoffs at this, rolling his eyes thinking _yeah, right._

[Like that'll ever happen. I'm just doing this because I somehow agreed to drag myself to hell with a paycheck.] Shizuo texts back, heading to his sofa to set up a place to sleep for the night while he figures out what to do now.

Celty doesn't argue, letting it drop because she can sense how tired Shizuo is. [Okay. Just take care, alright? And Shinra says to remember to help Izaya eat and take the medications I gave you.] Oh, that's right. But remembering back to their earlier arguments, Shizuo knows Izaya doesn't have a taste for anything. Which leaves little for how to get the stupid flea to do what Shinra says.

[Thanks, Celty. But he won't eat anything.] Shizuo texts, walking to his kitchen and leaning against the counter, fingering the pill bottles in his pocket Celty gave him.

Celty texts back, moments later than her usual responding time. [Why not try making some plain okayu? That's pretty simple, especially if you haven't gone grocery shopping yet.] He knows how to make that, at least. But he doesn't know if it'll work—not like Izaya has much of a choice either way—so he decides to try it.

[I'll try it. See you later.] Straightening he moves to his pantry, pulling out rice and starting to set to work. And trying not to think too much while frustration bubbles in his blood and creeps up his throat. His fingers flex, twitching like the muscles jumping in the skin of his arms and he grinds his teeth, scraping his tongue and swallowing down whatever bitter anger is left that digs into his throat.

[Have a good night, Shizuo.]

_~_

"Oi, flea," Shizuo calls, entering his bedroom with a bowl in hand with chopsticks resting against the edge as he turns on the light. "Wake up. Time to get your meds." He approaches the bed, grabbing Izaya's shoulder and shaking him—not roughly, but it is tempting—to wake him up. And soon enough Izaya's eyes are flickering open, squinting and unfocused when he stares up at Shizuo.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya whines, "what are you doing? Leave me alone." Shizuo retracts his arm, moving Izaya to sit up despite his limp protests and rubs his eyes with his hand. Blinking in the brighter light he picks up the smell of cooked rice, lips curling in disgust and narrows his eyes at Shizuo. About now he's remembering where exactly he is, and the grimace of his expression lets Shizuo know just how annoying Izaya still is, injured or not.

"Shut it, flea." he growls, placing the bowl of rice porridge on Izaya's lap. "You have to eat at least some of it to take whatever Shinra gave you." Won't mention what Izaya's missed and why he's in Shizuo's bed—right up until his nose wrinkles and he sticks his tongue out. Of course he does. Yet Shizuo isn't about to deal with the flea's shitty attitude in his apartment with all the help he's forced to give to the ingrate. "Eat it." Shizuo snaps, snapping the chopsticks apart and making a point of jabbing them in the bowl. "Or I'll make you."

"Shizu-chan, I'll throw up again." Izaya whines, stare hardening into a withering glare. "Can't you just forget it tonight? I don't feel like playing house with you anymore. Go away, Shizu-chan." His eyes suddenly turn to his surroundings, gathering where he is and they widen, moving back to Shizuo but he has the humility to not look the idiot in the smug expression he has.

"You're in my bed, moronic flea." Shizuo states, hand clutching the sheets dangerously close to Izaya's broken leg. "And you don't have much of a say in anything, so make this easier for me and yourself by cooperating." But Izaya has had it with putting up with Shizuo for one day.

"Go. Die." he hisses, slapping Shizuo's hand as if it has some force behind it to move the mountain of an arm. "I'm not listening to you because you're ordering me around, Shizu-chan. Why don't you show a little respect to your guest?" There's nothing to back him which is more than grounding—it's the burn of humiliation that doesn't rest when it cracks his spine and tugs at his jaw. He doesn't have his knife, and with his right hand the only good arm he has as well as practically immobile, he can't have any power over this situation with Shizuo. Just like that time, bound and gagged while boots crush his ribs and a bat strikes him in the head for one little taunt. And he's waiting, watching them because they leave his eyes open when they strike him to watch for the moisture that gathers but he won't let it fall.

"Flea," Shizuo sees the trembling set in Izaya's shoulders, and a darker thought asks if it's a setup. "This isn't getting anywhere. I'm not trying to make you sick, you know." Izaya's fingers move as if he's searching for a knife where Shizuo can't see—that can't be right, Shizuo knows Shinra confiscated it earlier because it's—

"In your pocket, isn't it." Izaya grumbles, failing to take notice of _whose_ clothes he's in. Although he's right, because Izaya's knife Shinra has held onto has been in his pocket since they left. Shizuo thinks it'll take his thick head and tiny brain a little longer to figure it out. Right now they're both tired, and as much as they hate each other, it's futile if Shizuo wastes the opportunity to get paid. While it's from Izaya which is already satisfying, he at least has morals to keep him from bashing the flea's head in the wall. The way Izaya's eyes look, glinting dangerously with more than a hint of a threat mean he's at the end of his impatience.

"Eat the okayu, Izaya." Shizuo dismisses him, stepping back. "Unless if you need help again, I'm not moving until you do." He grabs pill bottles that rattle with the sudden movement, pulling out three from his right pocket while Izaya's switchblade remains in his left. While Izaya's left to figure out his own issues with a bowl of rice porridge—it's just rice and water, quit being dramatic—Shizuo's sure Celty wouldn't be happy with him with his anger starting to thicken in his veins. Izaya's dour expression confirms it, fringed with sleep and Shizuo sees the effects of his earlier pain medications wearing off while he reads the dosage instructions of each bottle.

Izaya continues to glare, frustrated and furious with the craving to stab Shizuo in the face just to keep him from looking smug. He doesn't outwardly, but Izaya knows that look when it's been reversed and directed to himself. And it's not like Shizu-chan's threats are going to help; the stupid amoeba refuses to and simply can't comprehend why Izaya doesn't want to eat the disgusting watery rice. It's also not because he hates okayu, but there's a start already on his long list of reasons to kill Shizuo.

Looking down at the okayu, Izaya can't. He knows already the way his stomach churns uncomfortably that it isn't possible. Already sickened from the broth from this morning he doesn't think he can possibly eat more, assuming that he wants to. Which he doesn't, especially with Shinra or Celty forcing it down his throat or at the worst, Shizuo and his stupid threats while he contaminates Izaya's switchblade with his disgusting monster germs. So thrusting a bowl of porridge in his lap that looks congealed and glistens like sweat in the light of Shizuo's room isn't going to do much. He can't eat it, and that's that. Can't force it down his stomach when his thoughts are demanding for the food to be disposed of—get it away—and his stomach roils with bubbling acid and the broth it refuses to digest. He can't. Can't, won't could not, would not, whatever it takes to mean _no._ Enough; no more. But they don't understand. Shizuo can't hear the ache of headaches whenever he's around food (especially this disgusting) or the dizzying rush of hatred and anger when flavor hits his tongue. Too strong, too sweet, too _much_ of everything. And he hates it. Like his stomach hates food enough to make him vomit as if he hasn't already whenever he eats more than a handful of anything.

He's not even hungry. He hasn't been in months. But as an informant, he couldn't be bothered. "Izaya," Shizuo calls, voice softer already like he's giving up and expecting Izaya to just sit here and take it. "It's just okayu. I know how to cook, damn it." Izaya doesn't budge. Shizu-chan's horrendous cooking skills and attempted poisoning isn't enough of a bargaining chip. Will not make a move because he's glaring angrily into the offending bowl of porridge that just won't go away. The stench burns his eyes and his tongue tastes like ashes. Shizuo notices, and tries again. "Look, do you want something else?" He's really trying to behave. Curling his fists while the correct amount of pills (one antibiotic, two painkillers, three anti-inflammatory) rests in his palm, he questions the frustrated gaze Izaya ignores him with. Celty should be proud of his accomplishments, but at this rate he wants to throttle the damn flea and they're not getting anywhere fast. Izaya thinks this is a waste of time and similarly, Shizuo thinks this is all an elaborate game from the louse.

"I'm in a monster's clothing," Izaya starts suddenly, still staring into the bowl like it's going to rip his face off. Maybe it should, Shizuo amuses himself dryly. "In a monster's bed which smells like it too, and the monster has my knife, when I'm conveniently unable to fend for myself." His eyes glitter with a wild streak—Shizuo doesn't like the stare Izaya gives him when he looks up slowly, eyes flickering but remaining on his. "And you know what that means, Shizu-chan?"

"You'll eat the damn okayu and shut up already." Shizuo guesses flatly, expecting Izaya's eye roll and the tightening hand on the sheets that itches for his knife. Well, too bad flea.

"No, you idiot." Izaya snarls, lips curling and pulling back to reveal a haughty sneer. "It means go die, you barbaric, uneducated protozoan idiot!" Supposedly Shizuo is the one with the 'bad sense of humor', or so Izaya says. Self-contradicting irrational flea. But he doesn't stink as much.

"Why don't you?" Shizuo contradicts, firing the first thought off the top of his head and Izaya gives him this look that's unsettling, before he tilts his head back and laughs. And now Shizuo's considering if Izaya is actually sane at all with the harsh bark of laughter peeling from his throat and he thinks this is hilarious. If there are any vending machines around Shizuo doesn't know of yet, he'd like to grab one now and knock some sense into the idiot who keeps laughing like the freak he is.

"Don't you think that's what I've been trying to do?" Izaya laughs, panting and his face turning red, "I never knew you could be this stupid, Shizu-chan!"

Shizuo's blood runs colder than Izaya's hands.

This isn't funny anymore, he decides. And by doing so, he takes the pills from his hand, dropping them into the okayu at Izaya's lap. Picking up the chopsticks as Izaya finally stops laughing like a maniac, coming back down from whatever demonic high he's on, Shizuo scoops some rice colored with two pills and shoves it into the informant's mouth.

The result is priceless as Izaya's amused expression quickly becomes surprise that fades into its regular hatred. "Eat it, flea." He can't doubt that the bitter taste of the pills is starting to burn his tongue by now and Izaya's eyes scrunch to confirm his theory, swallowing with a huff. Before another mouthful is presented to him and he gives the best glare he's created. Shizuo rates it a negative ten out of infinity, just to be nice.

"I hate you, Shizu-chan." Shizuo stuffs the rice into Izaya's mouth to make his talking useful. Izaya growls but complies while his right hand twitches and clenches into a fist. Another pill down and three to go which Izaya definitely isn't looking forward to. In fact, he looks nauseous already.

Two can play at this game. "Fuck off, flea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Edge chapter nine will not be on time. Apologies for the delay.
> 
> Ah, it's late but it's still Wednesday. Forgive me, if you can find it within your humble souls. Or not. And yes, I do realize this is a chapter of Shizuo and Izaya being their regular stupid selves--well, they're not actually idiots, just retarded to when it comes to etiquette around each other.
> 
> I wonder if anyone caught the code I put in this. Just a little message, but it's a warning for what's to come.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Until next time.


	9. In Sickness and Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt, forget what happens next.

_~_

  

_...Lie to me until I believe you._

  
Come _on._

One ring.

Two rings.

Three—

Click. _"Brother?"_ There he is. But Shizuo doesn't have much time these days to say hello and talk about his brother. Sadly and in a cruel twist of fate, he's stuck calling his brother. It feels utterly pathetic, but he's at the point of tearing his hair out and murdering a certain someone. Refrain, Shizuo. _"Brother, are you there?"_ Oh, he's forgotten that the call has already connected.

"Yeah, sorry, Kasuka." Shizuo suddenly speaks, hearing the silent sigh his brother has that isn't exasperation but relief. "Did I call you at a busy time? I can call back later—" Maybe this is a bad time; second thoughts and doubts starting to sink in like the iron of anger ripping past the flesh underneath his knuckles. He shouldn't be calling his brother—younger brother—like this for advice. For whatever this is no one really would know. Not even the stupid flea (who is exactly the one responsible for why this is happening in the first place) bothers to care anymore. Maybe it's the selfish feeling of comfort whenever he hears his brother's quiet voice, as if guiding his anger to exit from him when he physically can't calm himself down. Shamefully he doesn't ever admit that it's a problem. Kasuka knows, and Shizuo makes himself guilty enough with that knowledge.

" _No, it's fine."_ Kasuka quickly interrupts. Izaya's not around, Shizuo's leaning against his counter and counts to ten before he sighs quietly as to not disturb his brother. Shouldn't it be enough that he's already calling? _"What is it that you wanted to talk about?"_ Despite the noticeable monotone of Kasuka's voice, Shizuo can hear the concern and he steels himself, preparing not to spill over and rant ( _again_ ) when he's too angry at everything to sort himself out.

Shizuo breathes, crushing his fingers together in his free hand. "I, uh, I don't know how to say it—" Shizuo growls to himself, cursing how stupid this is, "shit." he murmurs, hoping Kasuka doesn't catch the expletive curling around his tongue. Kasuka on the other hand waits patiently, silently as he waits for his brother to put his thoughts together. Shizuo hates how he doesn't deserve this. Not ever and not from a brother that forgives and forgets easier than he can consider it. His mouth tastes like stale blood and stale cigarettes leaking from the walls when they're running down like his patience is. "I don't know, Kasuka." he admits quietly, hanging his head so his bangs fall and cover the guilt. It's not enough, and it's never going to be when it doesn't take eyes to see and feel the crawling itch under his skin to bite past the surface. On the other side of the phone he thinks he hears his brother's thoughts, exhaling quietly and it's not dismissive, but Shizuo's mind can't help but haughtily force him to believe it is.

" _Brother, is something bothering you?"_ Kasuka asks, and it's the silent question in the subtext of his words _are you okay?_ that make Shizuo's mind travel down a darker road. He's not fine, and there's too much to say without saying too much at the same time. Confusing is what it is and now he craves a cigarette, only to know that it will crush between his teeth before he can light it with the force his jaw grinds his teeth with. No, he's not okay. No, this isn't okay. Why is he doing this—why is Izaya here, in his bed—it's only been three days and he's fucking _fine._ With having the agreement as is, there's not much he can change to his sanity that's slowly dissolving itself whenever he tries to converse with the damn flea. His head throbs in reminder; a sharp pang creasing valleys between his eyebrows and betray his age more than the stress of another headache.

"Not really," he bites his tongue, thinking of a lie to satisfy Kasuka and to convince himself he's just overreacting. Calm down. Don't think—don't remember anything or why he's doing this. Stop thinking. "I had to take up an agreement, and now..." he thinks to himself, setting the words on his tongue before his brain has a chance to think things through. He's more spontaneously improvising than planning what he can excuse himself with. "I'm just piled up with a lot, is all." It sounds pathetic like when the flea tells him he's fine even though his face is pale and he hasn't moved at all for days. Shinra's phone number is in his hand, but he can't bring himself to do it when the flea demands that he doesn't.

Kasuka can see through things with a bizarre accuracy. It must come with not having much to express, keeping it inside under the mask of impermeable calm. _"Brother, that's not why you're calling me."_ he says, entirely nonchalant like talking about the weather or the rise of peaceful days in Ikebukuro. Shizuo wonders if his younger brother knows (he almost knows everything, wouldn't he) what's been going on, but between keeping it from others and dealing with Izaya, he forgets the footing in between remembering what he's been pulling his own grounding apart for. Izaya is the reason—lying there, rasping breaths above the sheets—Shizuo's calling his younger brother out of the blue for no reason but to assure himself as selflessly as possible that he's not losing his head when he's concerned that the flea isn't alright. Hence sleepless nights and rasping coughs that grow worse when Izaya thinks Shizuo can't hear, calling him an idiotic protozoan.

 _Infection, infection, infection._ His brain reminds him like a siren when he thinks, seeing the feverish gaze and Shinra's not calling, hearing the same from Shizuo that he's alright, he's fine, nothing to worry about keep going going going on gone. Fever dreams and painkillers, antibiotics and sprinkled like candy in yet another turned-up bowl of too salty miso soup. At least he tries. Kasuka's calling his name, remembering the sound of a monster having a name to taint the lips of another. A cruel twist of irony, pull him down and his limbs apart to beat him with them. Days pass, nothing comes he can't know what to do when Izaya keeps saying he's fine.

Images twist before his eyes, shadows lurking and the lack of sleep is starting to get to him again—sleep isn't applicable—days are nights and he's listening to the sound of mocking laughter and death knock at his door. The burn beneath his back, aching into his spine when he doesn't realize that he's awake and alive and talking to Kasuka but it's more of a blurry dream swallowing itself in darkness. He can't breathe, choking up whatever puddles in his mouth like black salt and saliva mixed with sludge and Izaya's there, above him with hands around his throat and he knows it's going to end. Doesn't matter that Izaya's fingers are crushing the life out of him or that he can't _move_ at all or choke on the scream that comes up when two red eyes, not a person anymore, are glaring down at him. His ribs creak and break with snaps, laughter slipping in between each and digging deeper as the air is forced from his lungs to the breathing monster above.

They twitch on his throat—the fingers, dragging in deep to his throat and piercing walls of flesh and muscles while Shizuo struggles to gasp for air. His mind's in a state of panic, something he's never used to when he's the monster and not whatever it is—it's not Izaya anymore—that laughs when he coughs and grapples for more. This sort of nightmare gets on his nerves, grating and screeching and aching when he doesn't sleep and isn't sure if this is a nightmare when Kasuka doesn't know he's calling.

Whether he gasps awake and alone or to knives in his throat, he'll never know.

_~_

[How did the meeting go?] Celty asks, the morning after their apartment is emptier with Izaya's leave. She's already cleaned out the guest room, returning it back to its normal look and remembering the first time she sees Izaya in there, unconscious and covered with bruises. The time before when retrieving him she wasn't thinking as much as focusing on getting him back to Shinra, unable to be shaken awake and something wrong with the blood in the air. It wasn't a strong scent, but she could feel it dribbling down the confines of her suit, squeezing a shudder from her after she left with Izaya on Shooter. Memories aren't a pleasant trip in the morning to follow a night of heavy dreams she can't remember clearly.

"Huh?" Shinra looks up from drinking coffee—not a good choice there—and he brows furrow, trying to remember what she's talking about until it starts to click in his frazzled brain. "Oh, that. I talked with her a while, but we did get to a conclusion." He leaves it there because he's not sure he wants to finish now but it's hanging on his tongue anyway like the bitter taste of why he hates coffee (hence the milk and plenty of sugar for a child) at any time of day including early morning. Celty cocks her head to the side and he can almost see the question forming when she types because he knows her well enough to know that she's suspicious and she's unsure as to why he's not talking.

[And?] Celty taps, tapping her finger against her leg and pulling her PDA away after allowing Shinra to glance. There's an accusation on her mind and they both know what she's going to say so for politeness and the sake of trying to be risky Shinra doesn't answer it yet. So he goes with another bitter swallow of coffee—the sugar just won't sink in while it sticks to his tongue—and puts words in his mouth to make them sound good, when he just wants to tell her the truth and Celty is the one he's supposed to trust. This isn't an issue of trust between them when it's more respect and the fact that neither of them have been functioning the same since Izaya's appearance. Izaya tends to do that.

"She said that she had some definite theses, including what she thinks might be wrong with him. Just confirming the regular maniacal sense of humor he has as normal, somewhat." he chuckles at his own joke but can't find the will to cough it out of his throat. "Her main idea is that...Izaya developed an eating disorder." He waits, catching his tongue in his teeth and biting harder than expected when it's meant to be nothing but a lazy catch and wait for Celty's reaction until he realizes that maybe she doesn't know what that is. Fumbling, Celty is still quiet as he keeps forcing the words past the dryness of his throat. "It's the reason he's not eating. For some reason, Izaya's completely compromised when it comes to food that it's an obsession, and—" Celty abruptly cuts him off with raising her phone to his face and he forgets she's been typing the entire time.

[I know what it is. It's just hard to imagine, him being, well, Izaya. But that? I don't know much about it, but it doesn't sound right. Well, not for him being himself. Otherwise I don't really know.] It's a first Celty doesn't sound sure of herself while she thinks aloud and tries to make sense of the information storming her brain like it has been in Shinra's for much longer. [But...I guess it's not completely impossible. Just hard to understand, is all. When I try to think about it, all I can imagine is that my theory is right, somewhat. Since Izaya is probably more than we know or think we know about, so we might really not know much of anything about him. Weren't you his friend in school, too?]

"Too much, Celty," Shinra teasingly jokes, blinking and taking the time to read the abundance of words lighting up the PDA screen. "You've been thinking about that for a while, haven't you? I remember you mentioned it before bed yesterday, but I fell asleep before you could explain. Why don't you explain what you're thinking now? You're better at this than I am, clearly, so it would only make sense to hear the beauty of my beloved's thoughts." Celty rolls her eyes as she's clearly unamused, but he sees the smile and the blush across her cheeks, covered in the puffs of rolling smoke coming from her neck. He's ignoring the questions she's been meaning to ask, and she's ready (almost to rising to the top and blurting it aloud without the censor of her own rationality) to demand an explanation—can't, shouldn't, knows that it's just being impatient—so she has to learn how to deal with her impatience. All the talk of Izaya and the memories of his injuries are slowly driving her crazy unless if she can get them out her system—meaning she has to know he's going to be okay. As much as his antics anger her, she can't bring herself to hate him. Not when she knows more than he does and is willing to admit to himself. It's an advantage, she guesses, to have over him and either he doesn't know (probably does) or doesn't _want_ to know. Two extremes: opposites and deadly at the same time.

[I will Shinra, but you can't expect me to accept what you're not telling me.] Celty narrows her eyes—catches him right then and there—and Shinra swallows when he is reminded once again that he can never escape Celty's watchfulness. She's clever and perceptive which is a dangerous combo, if not for her beauty that can strike Shinra dead at any given moment. What she's thinking below the surface of her beautiful perfection Shinra never thinks he will be ever able to know every thought she has. They are all precious to him as naturally wanting to know about Celty's thoughts. In the years they've been together, it's been finding out in the rare moments that he doesn't come to expect that Celty is more hidden than he realizes and in the first years maybe he's pegged her all wrong because she's full of surprises. But then again, he's not a stable character either—she always knows what he's thinking unless if he makes a point of keeping it a secret, but even then it's like she _knows._

He shakes his head, smiling underneath and it's not forced but more of a gentle one reserved for when he knows Celty's asking for what he's not the best at voicing. "My friendship with him, Celty? That's such an odd request. Although I'd have to say, we were friends in school until he started going downhill with the club we had, and then...now, I'm not really sure. You and I and plenty of others are angry at him still for the things he's done and the games he's played, but that's where I really don't know. It's that I _do_ care about him, like a close acquaintance, yet most of the time I'm not sure of what to think." Shinra attempts to put thoughts into words like Celty can—not nearly as elegant—and she nods as he speaks, listening carefully while she takes everything she hears into consideration to which she'll make it matter somehow and in ways he won't see the connections to. Intuition triumphs sensing there.

[It makes sense, don't worry.] Celty quickly reassures even though he never asks for it, just like her to do so. Another reason why she's the only one for him, his beloved and darling and thoughtful—the glare she cuts him silences the words that are loud enough in his mind to ring in her ears. [Izaya's not one so easily defined, so you can't really know for sure. I don't expect you to agree with me, but at least try to understand what I see and why I do. Maybe that will make sense even if it's a little bit. When you're angry at him for what he's done and I don't blame you for that...for some reason, I can't just keep staying angry at him, if that makes any sense at all. I'm still angry at him for using everyone and hurting them, but there's the part of me that knows getting angry won't solve anything with him. And for him as well, it takes understanding to realize why he does what he does. What sane person would hurt so many others? Why would he, if he had everything to lose like someone who has people they care about? It's not that he's exactly insane, but more that he's...conditioned, I guess, to behave defensively.]

Celty's too thoughtful at times that it makes Shinra's brain ache with all the new information seeping in and soaking into the sponge of his mind, always learning from watching and listening. Celty knows how to speak so wisely even when it's only her opinions and he admires her so for the fact that he knows of no other fairy or human that can be as perfect and intelligent as her. "Celty, I think you're just too kind to him. But I see your point, as much as I don't want to agree with it. It's easier to push away thinking about something like him than to actually sit and dwell on the psychology of everything, which is what I had to do yesterday." Words spill of truths and more that curl in the breath under his tongue and his teeth are aching with speaking so much he doesn't know how these conversations start or end or when they finish making him question what he knows about Celty (and himself) and what he learns. "So much psychoanalyzing I did with a friend of mine, and I couldn't understand it at all until she made me understand with terms I knew. Even then I didn't know what to think, because of all of the ideas she formed so quickly and easily about him, not even knowing him at all." Coffee cools forgotten in a cup at his side while he leans on the counter top and Celty sits across from him.

[Who is she, anyway?] Celty interrupts with a question, but Shinra shakes his head (how odd) and shrugs his shoulders—what is he trying to say—this isn't making any sense at all. What she's starting to think with the shrug are multiple possibilities with some plausible and some more ridiculous on the extreme end but she can't help the sudden rush of thoughts because she's too curious to not know.

"I really don't know who she is, to be fair." Shinra smiles in a lopsided turn of his mouth that's sheepish and without masking which only invokes Celty's curiosity. He knows when she wants an answer, at least. "We met such a long time ago, and I remembered her as the redhead who asked so many questions that sometimes no one could answer. Every year was a different name from her: Kurokawa, Aoshi, and so on. All color names, I realized at least two years after she disappeared. I never paid attention until I heard one of her old names from one of my patients and I knew it was her, because the names she used made no sense. But I realized they were all based on colors, and she kept herself hidden that way. Not sure why, but she did." Shinra's smile fades in the memory and he gives Celty a winning smile which ruins any tension in the air beforehand and replaces it with his comical sense of humor. "She could never be as beautiful as you, my dearest Celty. I only found out where she was when I emailed her from an old address she gave to me one year. Her name was Shiroko then..." he trails off, reminiscing only to snap himself back quickly with his usual elasticity. He doesn't mention anything else when he doesn't see the purpose yet—still trying to figure out the mystery of what her name is now and who she has been. It's not a concern of his to be fair (he never realized that she's a girl until they met the day before), but rather a challenge that hasn't faded for a long while.

[I see.] She's not angry; only thinking. [She sounds like the type of person who can analyze Izaya because she has something in common with him.] The point she makes is bizarre—how does she compare the two—and it takes a minute for Shinra to realize he's going to have to think like she does, which is hard enough trying to see her views sometimes. And then somehow his mind comes to the Shizuo issue, and when he thinks about it, it starts to slowly make sense. At least, he thinks it does.

"I doubt she's a homicidal maniac, but I'm guessing you're not talking about that." Shinra jokes and as expected Celty punches his arm and he winces, saying it's only a joke. "But I'm pretty sure I know what you mean. Just harder for me to put into something meaningful like you, huh? If I put it in context, it'd be saying why I asked Shizuo-kun to take care of Izaya, then." What makes his statement intriguing is that it's not a question but more so stated fact as if talking about the weather with the two opposites that Shinra put together for not every reason Celty knows why. But she guesses that Shinra already figures out what her expression says as it reads as clear as the morning rise of the sun for him through the balcony doors.

"There's more to Shizuo-kun than to being a monster, which you know already. But Izaya doesn't." The smirk that coils his lips is almost sinister in a whimsical way with Shinra's sort of planning that comes when Celty knows he's plotting something. (What is he talking about? She has some clear ideas, but they're not concrete.) "So wouldn't it be easier to let him find that out?" That—it makes sense—is what he's talking about. Right then with the almost nonchalant hint that he probably doesn't know he's letting on more than he means to. Not like Celty won't figure it out anyway when that's Shinra for her. A dangerous game is what he's playing when putting those two together despite knowing the both of them at different levels on a personal relationship, yet it is a gamble that Shinra's willing to take. The reason—she thinks—she knows why.

[You sound like a mad doctor.] Shoving her PDA playfully in his face as she rolls her eyes, she can practically hear the cooing noises he makes with his showering rain of compliments that aren't flowery and stupid at all. Not like she'll be admitting that to him anytime soon. Turning away she watches him leave the kitchen, pretending to be brokenhearted at her rejection of his "wooing" and grabs for his laptop, flipping open the lid and settling on the sofa while patting the place beside him. Against her better judgment and maybe just to humor him, she moves over to the other side of the couch and hears his string of complaints and self-depreciation. Only Shinra, she knows.

An email pops up on the screen with a new composition and Celty turns on the television, tuning out the clicking of a keyboard and doesn't ask when she can see the headline due to boredom and curiosity, figuring Shinra won't mind if he doesn't care all that much what she does know or will find out. Reading it—it's addressed to Tanaka Tom, Shizuo's employer. That's right; Shizuo would be having to leave work for a while to attend to Izaya. But with thinking about Shizuo comes thinking about Izaya and the look on Shinra's face that is too suspicious to not question and he never fully answers what she asks ( _what are you hiding?_ )and then only to realize with the cognizance that she knows things he doesn't (Izaya's asked her not to, she can't) and then it starts to even the score of not telling each other despite never being one for secrets. Fair isn't the word that's applicable at all to what this is while she ponders her own contradiction of wanting to know what Shinra's keeping from her while she doesn't explain everything he may or may not need to know. Probably does—will it apply to herself as well?

A click of a button ends the tapping keys and the show on TV isn't entertaining with how uninteresting it is as it provides an easy distraction to the fact Celty thinks if she had her head, she'd suffocate in this room filled to the brim with uneasy tension between the two. Shinra keeps moving on, pulling out his cellphone like nothing is wrong despite the lack of fluidity in conversation that has been taking over their alone time and thoughts heavy and filled—it is hard to tell. And dismissing it—seems to be the only thing to do now—is what Shinra does when he excuses himself from the couch to pad away to the kitchen with his phone to his ear.

Celty is curious, but much to her surprise, she hears Shinra's voice in the background noise of the television focusing most of her attention. "Shiki-san? I apologize for the sudden call, if you don't mind the intrusion. No, no; I'm fine. Celty's fine too, but I can't say as much about your prized informant, Izaya-kun." he pauses, listening to the gruff voice on the other side as Celty listens on. Again with the phone conversations—she's guessing he is only informing Shiki of Izaya's updates. A reasonable concern.

"He's doing fine right now with no immediate danger of any kind. It's lucky that you contracted Celty when you did, or he wouldn't have made the night. What happened? Well, it's a long story..." he fades out of the conversation with eyes flickering to Celty when images flash behind his eyes. "And I'm not really sure of everything. What I do know is that he was beaten pretty badly by someone or something, and then had an unfortunate incident that led him to recovering over here. Due to patient confidentiality, I can't tell you everything, Shiki-san—Yes, I'm aware of that. But I don't violate my rules. If you want to know the full story, he'll tell you. I know, yes." Shinra pauses again, listening to the voice while Celty remains watching the show playing on television. Shiki is in his ear and attempting to dig out the knowledge Shinra has but he knows honesty code well. It's how he communicates, Shinra would have to guess.

"He's recovering right now, Shiki-san. All I can say is that due to the severity of injuries sustained to his legs, he can't be out on the job for quite some time. About two months at the least, so you'll have to do with that. He really can't do much else and currently he's on some heavy painkillers, which means he won't be much use to you as he is." Celty thinks her blood starts to prick with a chill when she hears Shinra's thoughtless words but she knows he's speaking to please Shiki-san and himself. But when a sinking feeling starts to creep in, she doesn't dismiss the suspicion. "Alright then. Thank you for your understanding and I'll keep that in mind. Goodbye, Shiki-san." A click of the phone and the call ends with a silence that starts to linger for longer than usual. Something feels sour in the air—maybe it is Celty or maybe it can be the destroyed remains of their balcony Dennis says he'll help fix tomorrow that hang in the creeping light of red sunlight.

Looking outside, she watches the world move around them. Everyone and everything that keeps moving—unaware and unassuming—without a care of the standstill within an apartment resting above many of the moving objects on the streets and roads. In contrast to the held silence for who knows how long will last and how to break it she isn't sure she wants to know life keeps moving on. Things come and go and she wonders, bleakly, what comes next.

_~_

Shizuo groans to himself when the ache in his spine feels all too real to ignore for any lapsing moments of sleep that cling to his eyes. There isn't much of a chance to fall asleep after the strange nightmare he vaguely remembers with calling his brother and then waking now, he has the urge to call and make sure. Phone in his pocket, it is easier to do than think when thinking requires remembering too much at once to handle with little sleep and a nightmare in the daytime.

" _Brother?"_ Like surfacing from water Shizuo hears Kasuka's voice over the phone, realizing this in his head he's been trapped in and the call connects with a click. It sounds familiar, almost, until Shizuo has to shake his head and pull himself up and rest his feet on the floor to slowly work out the aches down his spine of a ratty sofa. Doesn't remember why he's there and can't choose to know now.

"Hey, Kasuka. I hope I'm not calling when you're busy." His voice sounds like a rasp when he speaks and he covers the bottom of his cellphone's cracked metal to clear his throat without letting the sound through. "I just...uh, wanted to see how you're doing." It sounds stupid when the words keep repeating in his head in the flat tone of his voice. What is wrong with him when he can't converse like a normal human being? He's not a monster at least—except for— _no—_ so it doesn't make as much sense as to why he can't start off a conversation the right way with his brother. At least with Kasuka being a kinder younger brother, he doesn't mind Shizuo's momentarily lapses of fluidity.

" _No, it's alright. I'm on a break right now."_ On break in the morning doesn't sound like Kasuka—that is, until Shizuo checks the time on his phone when he pulls it from his ear and it reads nine thirty-eight in the morning—shit. _"But I need to get back in ten minutes."_ Which translates to asking what is on Shizuo's mind because Kasuka being Kasuka knows these sorts of things about his brother that Shizuo doesn't understand how Kasuka can tell. He knows that Shizuo hates telling the sorts of things that bother him when he already feels guilt for the things he does and the monster he can't contain so Kasuka tries to bypass the automatic steps filling in the empty silences. It's for his own good, Shizuo realizes, that Kasuka gets to the point. (Not that he deserves it, though.)

"Sorry." Images and remembering start to slowly creep into Shizuo's mind when he becomes more aware of where he is—his apartment and his shitty couch, of course—and the events before strange nightmares and—"I just wanted to know how you're doing and..." Guilt traipses in when he doesn't need it to and it's not only because he's bothering his little brother with the pointless issues of talking about himself to which he starts to feel ill. Stomach churning, more images and realizations of reeking fleas and (shit shit shit)—Izaya. Then a wave of nausea creeps through his chest and combined with already feeling worse enough, he gives in to pushing himself to his feet with the directive in mind to head to his room (it's too quiet in here, he notices now of all times) and attempt to force himself to keep moving forward. It's all he can do when there isn't much a _monster_ can do anyway. "Hey, I'll call you later. I don't want to keep you from work. Sorry."

Not technically an excuse but close enough to still feel it ring between his ears Shizuo hears his brother give a goodbye that means they need to talk—Kasuka's concerned and while he's right to be, it shouldn't be that he has to be. It isn't his problem what Shizuo does with the monstrous body of his to bend and contort into a human shape for daily life of remembering to be the failure of a brother he can't always face in the times of calling Kasuka. It only reminds him that he's come this far to fail when he calls for the selfish reason of hearing his brother's calming voice. His brother, he knows selfishly, doesn't fear him. And in making his way to _his_ room (what the hell is he thinking with sleeping on the couch) he knocks on the door once before announcing himself and opening it easily as the doorknob clicks and slides from the hold.

"Oi, flea," Shizuo calls, eyes falling on the solitary mass underneath _his_ sheets on _his_ bed in _his_ room only to remind himself to keep breathing and remember _why_ he's doing this in the first place, which means sacrifice like a sort of punishment for being the monster that he is. Izaya is only the insult to injury with the salt in the wounds. "Wake up." He can't tell if the lump in his bed is breathing or even awake so he settles with _not_ stomping over to beat the idiot to near death but to pull back the covers when he can't see anything of the flea who should be grateful enough to pop his head out more than once. Shizuo doesn't care at all if the flea feels terrible—so does he. The idiot can learn to be thankful for once in his life before Shizuo will consider caring—no, no, _no_ he's not thinking that—and then with a flying pull of sheets, a curled up Izaya appears.

True to form, Izaya is curled into a painful-looking ball with as much tightness as his leg and arm can allow him (above the dusting of bruises Shizuo remembers in a vague flash of triggered memories) and then Shizuo snorts to himself to clear his head when it's too early to think. "Get up, flea. Time to take your meds since we missed this morning." Not his fault when he's sleeping on his lousy couch that digs into his back. And with Izaya's eyes in a state of open and not really sure as to if he's seeing anything, Shizuo refrains from shaking the moron awake and waits, because he can't be the monster yet. Or so he tells himself.

"Go 'way, Shizu..." Izaya's sleepy voice comes wafting up in a curled murmur that barely reaches Shizuo's ears. With as soft as his voice is Shizuo almost doesn't recognize the parasite as Izaya until he registers it when Izaya moans in hesitant pain when he shifts. Curling in tighter doesn't work to his advantage as he tries—lips managing a pulled hiss when the aches start to spread throughout him like hot lead in his muscles and he feels too exhausted to be alive while Shizuo isn't amused but starts to think why the bitchy secretary left the flea. He remembers her with the set frown in her face, always glaring and uninterested like an underdeveloped Izaya that merely rolled her eyes in disgust whenever Shizuo came to Izaya's office, ripping the door off of its hinges and demanding to find the shitty flea.

The first day and Izaya falls asleep right in front of Shizuo. What have they been coming to Shizuo isn't sure he wants to know more or less to do with his slowly sinking sanity. In the least he knows that he still has something left besides the parasite on his bed looking paler than ever and uncaring that he's starting to evoke Shizuo's untamed temper. Which isn't hard to do, being Izaya and all that. "Get up so you can take your damn pills. What do you want with them?" He even has the courtesy to ask what Izaya wants, ranging into the selection of Shinra's approved meals consisting of okayu, miso, and yudofu for the first days. All of which Izaya happens to just so hate. Not like Shizuo's going to care any more or less. Really, Shizuo isn't getting half the credit he should be for dealing with the fucker in his bed that will be the end of him somehow one of these days.

"Don't want anything," Izaya murmurs again, twitching fingers of his regular arm and Shizuo thinks that—for a fleeting moment—Izaya may actually be in too much pain to move, considering the way he's bending into a ball like a dog would except his injuries wouldn't allow much free range. "Go 'way." Again with being childish, which Shizuo decides irritably that he won't be dealing with today so he leaves the sheets at the end of his bed, knowing he'll have to burn them later, and walks out of his room, resisting the urge to strangle the flea when he sees the bruises that are fading on his neck and makes his way out. With the energy of his anger he can't control he can try to put it to a good use of making miso for the fussiest eater and most annoying asshole he's ever met.

In the kitchen he spots the three pill bottles that he has to force down Izaya's teeth he doesn't trust with his fingers and can attempt to keep them when the little shit tries to bite him. From his cupboards, he brings himself back to the present to keep himself busy, shiro miso is what he has available so he takes a packet without a care and never bothering to read the directions because of the sheer amount of times he has done this before. Toss the flavoring packet into a pot of water, set to boil, and then soak the other dried ingredients and add to the boiling miso after taking out the flavoring packet. Easy.

Which is still not justifiable in Shizuo's mind as he does this, waiting for the water to heat up and keeps reminding himself of why Izaya doesn't deserve a thing—his brain refuses to accept any alternative—and while it makes him angrier, he can take his crushing fist and put it to good use to make the noodles into small enough pieces that don't require chewing. Because Shizuo knows already there is no point of making a way out of the mistakes he has made and the ones he's bound to make in the future. There are those, and then the ever-present reality that he can't escape this. It won't happen because no matter how many times Shizuo thinks that he deserves many things, Izaya is never one of them when Izaya is the worst possible thing there is. In comparison, he must be a demon instead of a monster to earn such a fate.

After losing himself in anger-fueled thoughts for long enough, he notices the noodles are boiling and finished with the lighter color and the white appearance of the miso, hence the name. Turning off his stove he pours into a bowl from his cupboard and a spoon appears shortly after, sinking into the steaming liquid when he's about to take it back to the flea and resist the urge to dump it on him. But before he gets any more ideas, from his freezer he pulls out several ice cubes on his way to measure out the pill amounts. When they plop into the miso soup and the spoon accidentally stirs them in, he blames it on coincidence and clutches the pills tighter in his hand, knowing not to squeeze too hard or clean up again.

"Izaya!" Shizuo calls and doesn't bother knocking to push open his door. From his bed he can see the flea hasn't moved at all from the uncomfortable position of an almost circle and somewhat looking like a bird with a broken neck from Shizuo's angle. Not a pleasant image, but neither is Izaya. "Get up and take the pills."

"Fuck off." Not even a 'Shizu-chan' with Izaya's greeting and Shizuo knows it's going to be a long day now. But not usually hearing the more explicit language from the supposedly articulate flea, he happens to have the advantage of holding this over Izaya while forcing pills and soup down his throat in another game of getting Izaya to grow the fuck up. So with little warning Shizuo sets the soup down on a bedside table and moves to untangle Izaya who begins to protest with a rattling hiss in his clenched teeth when Shizuo pulls him apart like a rag doll. Even though Shizuo's trying to be gentle (ha, ha, ha— _very_ funny) Izaya's limbs are being crushed too tight and the sudden movements force the pained grunts from him that probably fly over Shizuo's monster ears from how little he happens to give a damn. He never will and that is the end of any stupid nightmare that Izaya has to live in each day until he can find his knife and get out.

Against the headboard with a pillow at his aching back, Izaya starts to feel the preliminary waves of nausea roiling in his stomach when he sees the food and it smells like saltwater and death mixed with salt. The taste of pills he doesn't mind too much when they aren't Shinra's disgusting prescriptions that he swears are only to burn his mouth with acid and then force themselves back up. If they're a new torture device, then Shinra would make a wealthy man with the experiments he's already carrying out. Except for now in the awaiting trial of forcing death warmed over down his throat Izaya wonders how long it will take for him to vomit every last slip of bile that's left when it's no use trying anymore. He doesn't need to see or taste the bowl of whatever the hell Shizu-chan thinks is supposed to _help_ when nothing helps. Everything is burning ashes on his tongue and the curl of sour taste only settles into his bones past swallowing it down—No, it's not going to be okay with just shoving food and pills down his throat and pretending that everything's just _fine_ and Izaya's just a manipulative bastard. That part he can admit to though for the disgusting food they don't seem to care that it won't work and no matter how much they throw at him it's not going to solve the breaking machine that is his mind. Not calling into question the failing thought processes of logic and anger and rage when Shizuo throws him around like a toy because it is all he seems to be now as weak as he is.

They don't understand—he narrows his eyes at Shizuo angrily to slits and with cat ears and a tail, he could pull off the look. For settling with the anger on his face as the pain flares full force (there's nothing they can do for him, absolutely nothing the pathetic humans who don't care to think for themselves) and it's not easy with all the stupid that rips his mouth open and forces in more to a gorged stomach when he can't accept more. No more no more no more what part do they not understand!? Why can they not see they don't know anything and it's not their concern—why care? And then it's feeling a hand grasp his jaw while he glares defiantly into mocha brown, knowing the consequences fully and he doesn't care. There's the beauty of it—not caring not him not now not ever—and Shizuo growls at him to eat the damn soup and take the pills or he'll force it down Izaya's throat which is always the last resort as if it's to mean some significant threat like Izaya's mind isn't already turning itself inside-out.

"Eat the fucking soup, flea." Shizuo snarls inches away from Izaya's face, breathing hot and fanning over Izaya's face while the other scrunches his nose and doesn't look away. "I made it and it's cool enough, so just eat it and stop acting like a brat." Izaya rolls his eyes and as nauseous as he feels he manages a sneer with the curl of his lips in snarling deliberation to piss off Shizuo, when it's easy enough to do. Now all to do is wait—play the game, set the trap, keep the score—and then Shizuo will be crushing his jaw in the monster paws of his and force the disgusting concoction of ash and death down his throat until his mind's screaming for no more and his stomach is churning and boiling as it rejects anything that isn't water (when most times he can't keep it down) and he knows how ruined he is with the surprise that it's his own mind that brings him down. He knows he's brilliant to the point of heavily considered sociopathy and even to go as far as psychopathy but not to _this_ ruin of himself. A god as celebrated and hated with love by his own humans and to come crumbling from his position from the anger raging behind the confines of his thoughts.

"What is wrong with you?" Shizuo snaps and the thump of a familiarizing warm weight drops into Izaya's lap, twinging pain against aggravating his leg. "I fucking do this for you, and you're an ungrateful shit who keeps throwing a fucking tantrum every damn time. Is this entertaining for you? Because it must be hilarious for a flea like you to suck people dry." The grip on Izaya's jaw tightens and he feels the laughter bubbling in bile climbing up his throat and unless he wants to vomit on Shizuo and himself, it's best to keep it to himself, which is a shame considering how angry he could make Shizuo. But Shizu-chan, he reminds himself because Shizu-chan is an utter idiot with a protozoic brain that never works properly when he is a beast, is easy to take advantage of him with his force and demanding—charging head-first and expecting to win—as if crushing Izaya's head will prove him not to be a monster.

Izaya feels his tongue slice when his teeth burrow into the flesh and his lips pucker and he grimaces. "You didn't have to do this, Shizu-chan. No one can make a beast do anything and you know that more than anyone else." he snarls back with a rasp in his voice and bile hits his esophagus for the momentary reaction of wanting nothing more than to vomit. Cold sweat is beading on his skin but he won't give in and admit defeat. "Face the fact—you're the one housing me, and I don't believe threatening me with death will ever help you in your own needs." Cold sweat and anger is all he needs to believe that his stomach doesn't growl in the days before the shrill voice of accusations and then blackmail (a favorite choice of his) to leave before the next secret can be revealed and dealing with stupid is not what he prefers to do on his days off. (Assistants can be easily replaced, too.)

Shizuo narrows his eyes, releasing the grip on Izaya's jaw that is sure to bruise from the sheer amount of force used because Izaya never receives mercy. "Shut the fuck up already and stop rambling." It's interesting how Izaya forgets where he is, who he's speaking to, and what he's wearing so conveniently to throw one of his temper tantrums to try and make Shizuo give in. That's exactly what he's doing and Shizuo knows the parasite is seething underneath the skin filled with oil instead of blood. "Because, either you feed yourself, or I force it down your throat." He makes a point of jabbing his thumb in the direction of the bowl on Izaya's lap as it remains an innocent mocking testament to the fact that Izaya will never win in this situation when this deep in the monster's den. Unsurprisingly enough, Izaya's jaw grinds when his teeth set in frustration. He knows that he doesn't have anything much to assert himself when he's lost the right simply by being found—it doesn't mean he can't stop trying.

"Shizu-chan, you can't force me to eat and pretend this is a game." Izaya suddenly spits and the words burn like acid on his sour tongue when he imagines having to cram more into his stomach that resists with everything it has left short of devouring itself. Shizuo's getting the first wake up call of reality in the morning and while it is never late enough to hear it."You have the limited ability of shoving food down my throat now, but it won't make me eat it out of making me have a realization that I'm less than an intelligent being, which I'm not." His shoulders tense as if preparing to be hit which he knows will happen when involving Shizuo—who looks positively furious going by any means of just how much Izaya can twist the odds in his favor. "You're wasting your time, Shizu-chan. Everyone who bothers. So do yourself a favor if you can't do one for me and leave me alone." Dropping an octave Izaya continues his withering stare that doesn't back down from the challenging gaze of brown eyes and he can hear the blood boiling underneath the monster's skin.

Then the monster speaks, dropping pills into the soup and Izaya suddenly registers the fact that he's not going to get out of this because the idiot won't even listen to a word he says. "It isn't my job to care, flea. You want to spew nonsense because you're not happy with what people are doing for you? Go ahead. Be an ingrate, you selfish parasite." The words that come from Izaya are like flea bites because at first he doesn't feel anything more than the glancing bite only for hours later to feel the stinging throbbing in his head because Izaya plays mind games too easily. "So eat the food, and shut up." Izaya's jaw tightens and Shizuo sighs because he knows—again—that the idiot is choosing the hard way to make a point of himself. He doesn't care to listen when it's not worth the time of wasting his own any more than he has to and if Izaya is anything less than vomiting on his floor, he doesn't want to care. Spoon in his fingers he scoops up three pills and doesn't care if Izaya notices or not until his jaw is pried open by Shizuo's fingers easily enough and then metal clicking against teeth until Shizuo covers the shit's mouth as if to dare him to spit them out.

The flea looks livid but with the disgusting taste of pills sinking into the salty soup that burns his tongue either way he would rather bite Shizuo's hand but only settles for swallowing when he's losing this to a pig-headed monster. Stupid, devolved, idiotic neanderthal that only raises a mocking eyebrow and scoops up more of the putrid salty soup that colors with pills sinking into it. One eye-watering mouthful down and his brain's already reverberating with the anger and the thoughts that don't end when he feels the soup clawing its way down his throat and into his unruly stomach and the first wave of nausea is too intense to clamp down on his mouth again which Shizuo takes as a perfect initiative to shove more in. Brilliant idea, the fucking idiot. If he's not going to vomit it is possible he's going to gag and spit out the salty soup—way too salty—before he throws up and knows it isn't an option in this situation. All out of them, it seems, Izaya has to force the gagging down and swallow, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth when a pill catches in the back of his throat and he gags quickly with the bitter taste of wanting to throw up and choosing to cough instead.

"Would you stop acting like a brat now?" Shizuo readies another spoonful and doesn't even bother to notice that Izaya's not resisting as much anymore to grab Izaya's jaw and force in another with pills and noodles which makes the flea twitch under his hand when he already hates this more than the flea does. It is the one thing they can agree on so it doesn't come as much of a surprise when it won't change the fact they abhor each other. "I'd rather not be your fucking babysitter all day." What he doesn't know is the aching throb of Izaya's stomach disagreeing violently with the salty taste and the added weight of miso soup to aggravate the bile that lingers when he really can't take much more of this. Forced feedings, when he's not hungry, are slowly starting to tear him apart as with each thing he has to swallow the pain gets worse and worse. Cramping, bloating—disgusting side effects never end—to having the feeling of wanting to gag hours after unrest and never digesting his food. He feels utterly vile and the urge to kill Shizuo painfully slowly only increases with each agonized second.

Two more swallows of unwilling cooperation before Izaya can feel the salt sticking in his throat. He's going to be sick. "Shizu-chan, don't. I—Don't give me any more." he falters when he's trying to find the words to say (that's a first) until he stubbornly masks his own expression again to force himself to be neutral when he's angry and nauseous and uncomfortable while Shizuo doesn't express any concern. When Shizuo asks with a doubting look that serves to make Izaya's blood rise to a simmer, Izaya forces himself to try and think rationally with this beast of an idiot. "I'll throw up if you do." Which is true with the sticky saliva that's starting to increase and flood his mouth in the telltale signs of bile seizing his throat and angrily demanding the halt of more food to upset his stomach further. Even if it's not his stomach his head is throbbing angrily and it is composed of three parts pain and two parts disgust and anger and humiliation of being reduced to a mere mortal in front of his mortal enemy. Only befitting punishment of a god while his thoughts are screaming when left alone for long enough.

Brown eyes narrow and Izaya's too nauseous to challenge further. His stomach feels slick with saliva pushing down his throat and the unruly contents irritating the organ further than it already is. His entire body is alive with adrenaline when the salty taste in his throat won't leave and he knows that he's going to vomit if he can't stop it. Skin buzzing and mouth burning with watery saliva he hears Shizuo's lack of concern. "You've barely had a cup. Finish that, and you can go do whatever you want, except that." He readies another spoonful but continues on insultingly. "So hurry up so you can get dressed. I don't want to stay around your ass all day inside my apartment." No, no, no—of course the brute wants to go out when Izaya's feeling the taste of what could be revenge mixed in with his own ruined concerns. He can't go out when his stomach cramps and he feels like nothing more like a decomposing beast in hot sun, rotting from the inside out and aching all over.

"Shizu-chan, I—" he tries at first to make an attempt to appeal to the idea of Shizuo just leaving him alone and doing whatever it is monsters do but he is quickly silenced with a spoonful shoved in his mouth that rattles against his teeth and straight into his skull. Again nausea creeps into his throat and starts to drag its claws up and trickle over his tongue as the amount of moisture in his mouth increases to where he's almost pathetically drooling because he can't keep up the tight-lipped facade of calm with feeling like he's going to be sick. Saliva or soup it doesn't matter when it slides down and another shuddering wave of disgust throbs through his veins and he's sure that he's going to throw up again now while Shizuo decides to pause in his force feeding to realize that maybe Izaya isn't okay. If he cares, it may mean something other than the resigned fate of being humiliated.

Nothing he says will get through to the brute but he can't risk vomiting for the purpose of making his point known. It's not professional and as shitty as he feels, it's not worth the ear-rupturing argument when Shizuo loses his temper over one simple mistake as if he means to throw up in his enemy's apartment. It hurts too much to move—gagging and choking only worsens the stinging of bruises and strained muscles—Izaya doesn't think he can keep himself under control for much longer and it's a terrifying thing. "Flea," Shizuo interrupts Izaya's internal monologue of shutdown in order to stop the damage from spreading. "It's not that much. Stop fussing." With countless witty remarks at Izaya's disposal, he chooses the simple glare that crumbles easily with the next waves of nausea and curling forward to keep from gagging. Shizuo notices now that it's not just a game and it hasn't been since the rules have changed which leads to him stopping his pursuit of scooping another spoonful of soup.

"What do you want?" Izaya growls miserably and his face is paler than normal while his cheeks are starting to burn. But when he speaks, Shizuo notices that the ever infallible mocking formality that mars Izaya's expression isn't there and what he does notice is a line of—is that drool—spit trickling down his chin. At first he isn't sure what to think until it starts to click in his head faster than it does for Izaya and he's finally getting somewhere.

"Don't swallow." Shizuo suddenly warns and he turns around to grab an old pajama shirt from his drawer as he's short on time and resources. Proffering an old shirt to Izaya's doubting expression he ignores the spiteful anger and presses it to Izaya's mouth, much to his surprise with the flinch that unravels down his spine. "If you swallow your spit, you'll only be more nauseous. Just hold that to your mouth until it stops." One thing he's knowledgeable on and going by the look of agony that's starting to take over Izaya's face the flea does as he's told for once and Shizuo removes the bowl from the flea's lap. But he makes a disgusted face and presses the T-shirt harder into his mouth as if it will keep him from gagging to which Shizuo suddenly reaches out a hand, not thinking, and pulls it back. "You'll make yourself sick like that. Don't." When Izaya's eyes don't meet his he already pulls back to stop the burning touch of warmed skin on his fingers. But as desperate as the flea is he gracefully keeps his mouth still while he suffers through the salty taste of drooling into a T-shirt. Very empowering in front of a monster. Sardonic humor and mood intact, as always.

"Shizu-cha...gh," Izaya moves the shirt away long enough to complain before he hunches forward and hisses with the turn of his stomach and a spike of pain comes from each and every one of his bruises. Shizuo notices the contorting expression characteristic of what he noticed last night and he reacts with pressing the shirt back to Izaya's lips and moving a steadying arm around his shoulders while offering his shoulder for Izaya's burning forehead. It's instinct, reminding him of when Kasuka used to get ill and if he doesn't think about it, when Izaya's quiet they act the same way. Well, Kasuka never fussed.

"If you keep thinking about it, you'll throw up. Just stop thinking about it." Shizuo advises and while he feels the burning reprimand of his actions he justifies that he'd rather not clean up his floor again while Izaya acquiesces silently. Lying against him and forcing Shizuo to sit beside Izaya only makes for awkward contact that doesn't evolve much further than that. Izaya's too sick to care, Shizuo notices and accepts that he's going to be stuck with staying inside all day, and the flea doesn't have the option of taunting with the position he's in.

"Not..." Izaya mumbles into the shirt but the arm around him stays even when he tries to pull away. Giving up seems to be the easier option when he eventually lets go and Shizuo's sacrificed shoulder becomes a pillow while he waits for the storming of his mind down to his stomach to calm. Something else comes from Izaya that Shizuo can't make out and then a puff of air from his nose as the tension in his shoulders beneath Shizuo's arm starts to lessen.

Shizuo's brain leaves one channel of thoughts open with the flea against him and somehow not murdering the bastard when he has the chance until—this is why Shinra forced him into this. His eyes narrow when he realizes it now after all the suspicions seem to add up on each other and now (shit shit shit) he _knows_ exactly why Shinra asked him to do this. And while he'd like to get up and punch the shit doctor's face in right now because he's been playing this stupid game all along he can't with the weight of Izaya, his most hated enemy of all time, on his shoulder. So he has to resign to the desire of wanting to murder Shinra without Celty around and fantasize about the ways of killing him while keeping his rage underneath the surface—how did it go wrong—when he thinks—there's no way Shinra could—of murdering him without a sliver of remorse.

Because Shinra knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Due to the nature of Edge and the issues that will be covered, I will be posting a warning here and in the next chapter for ideologically sensitive material. In other words, from now on will have disordered behaviors explained in graphic detail as the story progresses. Do not read further if you wish to stay away from darker themes such as self-harm and the more non-"glamorous" behaviors of an eating disorder, which are the more personal/terrifying and disgusting ones behind the "pretty" (I use the term in sarcasm because of flawed perceptions of eating disorders and how they're commercialized like diets) images of no eating and stick-thin bodies that come to mind when one hears the term "eating disorder".
> 
> I am, surprisingly, alive. In the words of Mr. Spock, that is. Edge is my "baby" and how I've missed it so.
> 
> All I want for Christmas is kitty Izaya. But seeing as I torture him so much, I suppose I'll have to draw him myself.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	10. Living Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a sigh to start the first sounds of breaking down.

_~  
_

 

_...I miss the feeling of dying._  
  


"Oi, louse," Shizuo gives the familiar call when Izaya's still glaring at the wall despite sitting on the sofa. The television is on but he hasn't been interested in anything since lunch. And that's another mess on its own, without Shizuo trying to make the flea talk to him. Not like he worries, or anything, but the silence is a bit overwhelming and usually at times like this Shizuo likes to fill them with his thoughts aloud. With Izaya over, it's not the best time to think aloud to himself. Thoughts about life in Ikebukuro, his unmatched strength, sometimes what Izaya is planning—not that anyone would understand.

Let them think he's an idiot because it doesn't really matter when he breaks their nose. But back to lunch where Shizuo is forced to recollect himself more than once (so damn annoying) when Izaya spits in his face after too much struggling. It doesn't end well with Shizuo doing as he promises—forcing Izaya down, ignoring the wince—and shoving yudofu into the incessantly argumentative mouth belonging to Izaya. There isn't anything on it to keep Izaya from complaining, but then he still hates it no matter how much Shizuo tries to be civil. He really does.

And chunks of warmed tofu cooked in seaweed broth in his face are not the most pleasant thank you note. Shizuo can try to grasp his temper and keep it in check until Izaya has the gall to ask for it and not expect when Shizuo pushes him down with a snarl and forces food into his mouth. It continues on like this until Shizuo's satisfied and Izaya can feel his stomach bloating and the nausea creeps up his throat for the second time in the day. He abhors Shizuo—if he hasn't already—because the taste is awful and he hates seaweed but it's not like the brute gives any thought to it when he forces Izaya to eat the shitty food. Already he feels sick to his stomach and his mouth tastes like tofu and salt (if not salty enough by the seaweed wrap) and it is just too _early_ (trying to argue never works well) to eat anything solid if he's going to have to eat.

Even then all is well with Shizuo finally agreeable enough to let Izaya go and by that time his stomach is swollen and he has to wrap his arm around himself as it's too much without the buzzing thoughts swarming in his head. Doesn't want to throw up—the thought is disgusting—and yet he wants to be empty of food and Shizuo's glare burning into his itching skin. Until he realizes that Shizuo stares because his fingers are drawing blood from his arm and Shizuo scowls.

"Would you quit throwing a fit? It's just yudofu. And it wasn't that bad." Shizuo still stares and Izaya despises the beast far too much to put into words. Though as much as he wants to snarl something back the threat of vomiting keeps his mouth sewn shut. He hates this game of lording over him when he's weak. Not fair disgusting shut up already—his thoughts are uncensored every time he eats. They scream and they bury deep like knives with scalding metal when they ask (why how what could have should have) the questions he can't bring himself to answer when there isn't an answer.

 _Because Shizu-chan_ means nothing when they won't let him think and Shizuo is staring too much and the buzz of the television (it does nothing to keep them away. Only encourages more) is quickly driving him to the brink of insanity. And then there is Shizu-chan, who knows _absolutely nothing_.

So he doesn't say a word. Angry and confused and ( _hurt_ _ing—_ ) ill. Maybe a taste of his own medicine with disgusting colored pills and an extra insult of Shizuo being the devolved amoeba he is. It isn't fair and as grossed out and nauseous he is, he knows that Shizuo lovingly doesn't give a fuck. How suitable for a monster in a human skin when it's entirely plausible that he ate someone to get it. Figures. Especially more so when it isn't enough to veer Shizuo off track of shoving more food down Izaya's throat, but it may be motivation to commit more heinous acts that leave bile and roiling stomachs. The television is playing some animated movie about pigs and greed and for some reason Izaya finds it too fitting to laugh. Instead the bitter chuckle of animosity sounds in his ringing ears and maybe it's better to go to sleep.

"Jesus Christ, you throw tantrums like a child." Shizuo tsks and it still won't make Izaya glance in his direction. Right now is focusing on how not to make his stomach hurt when he feels the pulses of aching discomfort. "And it's a wonder how you make so much money. What do you do, whine until their ears bleed?" The jab isn't at all creative and Izaya can only reaffirm mutely that Shizu-chan is really this stupid. Whatever attempts at conversation he's trying don't amount to anything worth Izaya's attention, not after the stunt he pulled earlier. _Stunts_ if he counts the few days that it has been since waking up to Shizuo far too often for his own health. Unlikely, when his health is already taking a turn for the worse and for the very same reason (or at least similar) Izaya doesn't bother to care. It only wastes time. Anything to quell the stinging bees of thoughts and accusations plotting in his head and unfolding when he smells the scent of food and the rest is off the table.

The pain in his stomach is miserable. Like knives scratching off each layer of his stomach lining to bleed and poke with hot acid. Izaya's right arm feels alienated when it is not his dominant hand and fingers grasp at the long sleeves of a beast's borrowed T-shirt about two sizes too big. Drowning in it feels itchy against his skin and as tired as he is—eyelids dropping vision blurring—the pain in his stomach hasn't let him rest for days. Trying to think of something else while Shizuo huffs and flips through channels he comes to the memory of a white sliver in his pocket. _Passing the torch_ , Shinra calls it.

And that is too predictable from such a human reaction. Which makes it hilarious in a grim sort of fashion because of the irony coming from a doctor in love with a fairy doesn't help at all. Neither does the fact that Izaya is not a human, but a god above them all.

"So what happened to the secretary?" Shizuo's annoying voice chimes in at the moment Izaya can finally grasp the buzz of temporary silence in his head and it all comes crashing down. Namie isn't a subject he wants to talk about and for whatever sake that Shizuo is _curious_ is only for childish amusement. Izaya says nothing while he refrains from grinding his teeth. "Doesn't she always hang around? Or does she not know you're gone yet?"

Shut up already.

Izaya's persistent silence while the channel flipping makes Shizuo turn his head and while they're sitting at opposite ends of the pathetic excuse for a couch he still exudes hatred. What a lovely atmosphere. "Are you going to answer me? I asked a question, asshole. Besides, I don't need some people calling me because you've decided to take a personal vacation without notifying them first." And then to resorting to expletives and _yes,_ Shizu-chan, stop asking already and go back to hating whatever it is that pleases a beast. It doesn't help the buzzing in his head and he's tempted to stab Shizuo until he never has to hear the hum of gravel in a throat. He even talks like a monster.

"Nosy, Shizu-chan," Izaya bites and his tongue presses against the back of his mouth when the taste of salt starts to overwhelm him. Eyes watering he keeps his head turned away and his left arm shifts over to access his right arm. Scars are itchy and scratching is temporarily relieving as long as he forgets when he pulls too deep on fresh ones. (Not that he minds.) All that Izaya can do is either vomit _again_ and pretend that Shizuo doesn't mock him when he does as the humiliation has truly been enough. And bathing again is an entirely different numbing source of anger. Being exposed in front of a monster as if an animal sacrifice for the monster to devour. Gods don't become sacrifices.

"You're avoiding the question again." Shizuo narrows his eyes from what Izaya can see in the corner of his eye. His wrist still itches and he scratches. "What is it with you and talking in circles? Do you get off on this kind of shit?" He grunts through his nose, closing his eyes and shaking his head in dismissal when that isn't a picture he'd like to see. He has already seen most of the bruises on Izaya's stomach slowly fading to yellowish green colors.

"None of your business. Mind your own." Izaya snaps back a little more testily when Shizuo is starting to push and the thoughts are scraping in his ears to which he scratches a little more. Whatever is on the television is some drama and he doesn't care for the pettiness of acting. Not today and certainly not now on the verge of stomachache and burning leftovers of disgusting yudofu. This is why Shizuo can be a monster.

(It's all too easy to pin the blame. Go on, take it.)

"It is mine if I'm the one taking care of you." Technically not really maybe but that doesn't matter when he can't bother to give a shit about the parasite on his couch. The little shit is ungrateful as always and hissing like an angry wet cat. "What the hell is going on with you? Wake up on the wrong side of _my_ bed?" Pushing too far. Don't do that—red eyes flicker to him with distaste—when he should know better than to make assumptions when he isn't the one incapacitated. That isn't the only thing red when Izaya's fingers draw into a clenched fist and his switchblades are nowhere to be seen. All he has is the stupid little flutter of white paper he is far too tempted to give to Shizu-chan to shut up and leave him alone.

But he _can't_.

Izaya's fingernails are stained with blood when the skin of his wrist pulls free with the hectic scratching—oh, hasn't realized—and when he does stop his mind is wrecking havoc once again. Too brilliant to stop thinking and too stupid to stop the intrusive thoughts. "And that's the problem, Shizu-chan. I'm here with someone who's going to kill me and I have no means of escaping." What about wanting to die earlier, hmm? Don't think about that (choose not to) or just give in because it's easier? And Shizuo can easily rise to meet him past halfway and into his space.

"Don't bullshit me." Shizuo growls low and he does sound more like a beast now. "You wanting to kill yourself earlier? You think this is fun to play around and pretend that you want to kill yourself? Is that it?" Doesn't see the blood that starts to ooze into Izaya's left hand even though it's _right there,_ look, idiot. Well, don't because it doesn't matter and he's pressing too much into a bleeding wound. "Unless you're just bullshitting everyone, because only you would plan something as stupid as this." Tendons and nerves snap when he hears the accusation sting his ears and maybe Shizu-chan is right and this is all just a game. And winning means losing.

"Of course it's a game." Izaya's teeth clench and he eases them free. Can't let Shizuo see that he's cutting too deep into the skin. "But you interfered, Shizu-chan. And so did Celty and Shinra. The only players were myself and those who decided to pay me a visit." His mouth is moving too fast to censor the thoughts when his mind is devouring itself whole in excess bile because he feels sick and Shizu-chan has to be right. "You couldn't just mind your own business, Shizu-chan! You had to interfere with playing _my_ game and break _my_ rules and then force me to play _yours._ " Izaya's breaths are bordering on a growl despite the raw flesh that scrapes in his throat with sharp breaths of air. Blood tinges the air and stings his nose as familiar and comfortable as it always is when Shizuo is nearby. He knows that Shizuo is riled up and he keeps pushing buttons because it's his turn.

"Of sitting around, rotting in your apartment because I can't move, Shizu-chan. A product of a failed game and you take the win so _easily_ when I'm already dead." Izaya can't help the snap of his head and the heated stare when the rage bubbles underneath his skin. "Force me to play house like a children's game for a monster to devour, just like you. Not even the proper etiquette of giving me a chance to take a turn because you are the only monster that can't stand to lose. And when you get frustrated, you can take it out on me and never think about anything other than your primal urges instead of being a human!"

Shizuo lurches forward and his eyes narrow dangerous into red flashing signs. It should mean stop but he keeps going when his blood is boiling over. He is not supposed to hurt Izaya—remember, Shizuo, don't—Celty keeps telling him over and over again until it repeats as a mantra in his head and Izaya's only trying to rile him up. It's working—he fixes a heated glare—when all he can see is the chill of red eyes with no remorse. Nothing is in them. _Nothing_ is there and all he can see staring back with the edge of frost and bitter is a reflection of _(himself)_ the parasite.

Blood red pools as a color of someone's eyes and this isn't a someone—this is the parasitic flea who has made lives miserable for the fun of it—doesn't sound possible. A dangerous game and too easy to read no matter the emotion or mask that pulls tight. Unlike himself, but he doesn't know and he doesn't know that Izaya is grappling closer to the edge alongside him. Something they can agree on, it seems.

"You don't get a choice." Shizuo hisses the cold truth that melts in the fiery breath when he leans and grabs Izaya by the collar of his shirt. A choice move that feels like muscle memory and he doesn't listen to the hitching breath when he grabs the fabric or watch the twitch of keeping a shudder hidden. "Want to know why, flea? Because when you chose to die, overdosing on those pills, you lost the ability to make a sane choice. Be thankful that there aren't parasites like you that are as insane as you are. Don't you even know that you are?" Going too far, Shizuo. Stop stop _stop it_ when the monster of all beasts says too much and because Izaya doesn't have the choice or ever get to have one he can only force himself to look mildly unamused. But his lips pull in a snarl and while he refuses to ever lower himself to the level of a blond beast, he nudges dangerously close.

"I'm not insane, Shizu-chan." Izaya spits back and this time without saliva. His nerves are alive when Shizuo is too close for comfort and his skin singes with close contact of a furnace filled with coals and fueled by hatred. "You only use that to make yourself believe that being a monster is better than being insane when you truly lose all control. But don't you find that a bit redundant? Shizu-chan is only covering up his own fear of losing himself." Shizuo's fingers tighten and he can almost hear the rip of fabric of his shirt—calm down, calm down, Shizuo, calm—but his sight is red like the eyes that challenge him with the audacity because he's never afraid. Izaya will never fear him as he's said many times before and it sounds only fitting for a delusional flea to think he can dictate that he knows Shizuo better than himself.

Izaya conceals the squirm and fingers blood with his left hand with the closeness of a monster's breath beating down on him. The salt in his throat starts to shrink back and retreat to his stomach while his heart pounds (is not afraid absolutely never) a little faster. Only because of how close Shizuo is and this has nothing to do with the fear of death which he should be laughing at. This is what he wants, isn't it? "Shut up, stupid flea. Like you would know how to be a fucking human being instead of a psychopath." He must have strained his brain to come up with that. Izaya can see it too clearly—the clogging churn of cogs in a melting brain. If there was ever one, that is.

"If you're right, then get off of me." he challenges and Shizuo's eyes are boring into his and the urge to flee is quickening his pulse faster and faster. "Unless you want to prove I'm right." Add a charming sneer just for insult to injury. He can take this further but he can't take it when he's in danger of being murdered by Shizuo. It's so easy for fingers to slip when they grasp his throat over his Adam's apple and he watches, staring to make this as difficult as a glimpse of what Izaya has to deal with for Shizuo.

"Shut up." Shizuo growls back and he truly must be an animal. His eyes are narrowing but his fingers are tightening on Izaya's throat with spikes of adrenaline racing down his spine. It's not fair that Shizuo gets to have a chance when Izaya can't move except for the weakened arm of his. Shizuo's strength, however, is always more than he could ever possess. Relying on speed to get away like his thoughts racing in his head above the swell of adrenaline and still feeling the sickly burn in his stomach he has to force himself to keep calm when he can't run. Can't move can't breathe can't do anything.

Utterly _worthless._

"Get off, Shizu-chan. I'm not asking." Izaya shifts beneath him and Shizuo feels the itch of wanting to take the flea's head off. Underneath the armor plating and fleeting nature of his own insect-likeability the sparks of adrenaline shoot through the folds of skin and muscle in response to the burying pressure of Shizuo's hands and the one on his throat threatens to break him in half. Eyes narrow and burn pathways of held tongues and barbed insults. Shizuo doesn't appear to move and Izaya decides—with a shift of his wrist—Shizuo's eye catches the movement like the first warnings of red coloring on the fingers of Izaya's hand.

_(Izaya's wrist is bleeding.)_

It takes a moment for the information to click and then a couple more to interrupt. Hands shuffle from Izaya's throat to his arm, grasping the offending limb much to Izaya's flat-eared annoyance and the sleeve is pulled back with a force that says don't dare to test him. "What the fuck are you doing?" Shizuo is thoroughly unamused when the grotesque sight of bleeding wounds (those aren't new, not new, when did they get there?) and the humor is only a mirthless sneer when Izaya's had more than enough and flatly refusing to argue. Good for Shizuo for now of all times to blow up over something minor while he tightens his fingers over his bleeding wrist and stifles the ripple of stinging down his right arm. Not intentional not interested shut the fuck up, Shizuo doesn't _care_ if all he can do is scream and rave like a rabid beast. "Izaya— _give_ me your wrist." Seething and the air turning bitter when it filters from the clenched jaw. This is always a bad idea. (And if Izaya is complacent, then down another road and maybe a little longer to live.)

Complacent. Complies to Shizuo's demand by swallowing the choice circulation of harsh words and angry insults that are more or less true than reflections of what his mind is scratching into his skull when he loosens the grip on his wrist. Carefully Izaya's arms jerk while the muscles tighten over aching bone and it is a warning to Shizuo— _listen damn it—_ to calm down. Or else. Then he relaxes his fingers when Shizuo releases his hold on him and leaves purple dots that he'll have to explain to Shinra and an equally unimpressed Celty. Another time then. Now since Izaya is deciding to act like a human being instead of an annoying little shit he can let go of the pale throat and the murderous glare directed at him and wait. He has never been patient when it comes to games. But the warning signs that don't really threaten as much as they do promise keep him at bay and remind him to swallow down the anger to the best of his abilities. He is going to live with this for at least two months. How—he's not sure it's even possible, but under Shinra's subtle threats and Celty's not-so-friendly advice, this is going to end either with both of them dead or another (impossible) ultimatum.

"What did you do to your wrist?" Calm down, swallow the angry fire-hot rocks catching in his throat. Even out his voice so Izaya can only narrow his eyes if any further than already possible and refrain from killing the useless flea then and there. From what he can see there are scratches over the glittering pale scars with countless reopenings thickening the skin to the pale white that it is. Further down his forearm Shizuo knows Izaya has more purple-red ones that are more recent. In his own thoughts that are jumbled and half-organized into just trying to not get angry and ruin whatever has possessed Izaya to sit still, he's connecting the dots from bloodied fingers to an opposite wrist. The twitch setting into the relaxed fingers means that Izaya's waiting for him to speak and mess up. Have a reason to react violently. It's just what the bastard wants.

Somehow it's working to tame the clench of his fingers with Celty's reminders running through his head. He grasps the pale bone-thin wrist and remembers how Izaya's cheeks are slowly sinking in. "You scratched a cut open." Shizuo speaks like Izaya's a child and then retracts his fingers away from the icy cold feeling of the parasitic guest. "I'll go get some bandages," he murmurs to himself, standing from the couch and turning on his heels without another word. Izaya's still silent and staring at the muted twitching in his fingers setting in like spiderwebs crawling in between the spaces of his fingers. There are insults barbed and ready while they're stifled on his tongue the moment he wants to say them—just start another fight. Make Shizuo angry enough to kill him and then be done with being so helpless while the wheelchair is by the television, mocking him for ultimate humiliation. Whatever plays on the television isn't any of his concern when he's deep in his thoughts and can't be bothered to resurface. At this point it's the main way of coping and not losing his mind from being so close to Shizuo with no way of defense or a break from the slick slime forced down his throat in one form or another.

 _Either that, or force-fed,_ Shinra's voice cheerfully chimes in between his ears and he bites his cheek to contain the sigh of frustration. Of course the doctor's not going to listen to the complaints of Shizuo—no, Shizu- _chan_ slowly driving him insane with the background complaint of risking his life. Tough shit is the only appropriate response that comes to mind and it's Shiki's words from three months ago the day Izaya requests to have a day off. Exhausted and lack of sleep barely keeping him up he's not sure he can successfully translate a meeting until Shiki denies the excuses and he faints seconds after he leaves. Nothing's changed when he finds himself out of touch and mind when he decides that the argument isn't worth it and no he's not giving up. It's just that it's too much to argue and when he can't escape he may as well—doesn't he _want_ to die—let Shizu-chan rant and rave like a child. When he leaves, he'll exact revenge.

If he does.

"Here," Shizuo comes back and tries to pull Izaya from his head and barely gets a response. Izaya's eyes dim and flicker from the floor to white socks and then he stills, focusing on the burn and stretch of his stomach instead. "Hold your arm still." He sits next to Izaya, a little closer than his normal preference and rubs a damp cotton ball over the split skin and waits for a telltale hiss when the alcohol stings raw skin. Instead he watches the slightest shift of Izaya's jaw and convinces himself that the flea isn't human enough to show pain. (That's not true, he's lying—) So he continues and counts the seconds that tick by with Izaya not acting like his normal smirking self leaking with lies and dripping with insanity in every lie he slips between words. Not that he's—acting like a beast. Distracting himself, Shizuo places a bandage over the opened cut and wraps it with gauze for good measure. More for himself than Izaya's fingers that are suddenly stilled.

"Would you quit it." Shizuo breaks the silence despite his own tension snapping muscles and veins and the silence is too deafening with another person— _parasite—_ there. "You're not going to die from having to act like a normal human being for once. The only person who gets to kill you is me." Possessive, much? Wait—wait. What? Of course Shizu-chan's a stupid territorial beast and Izaya feels the hollow shudder of a laugh down his spine. It doesn't live long enough to show for it but the base of his spine feels like ice. Fingers leave Izaya's skin and if they leave indents it isn't surprising to either of them. Flexing his hand Izaya tests the new bandages and wipes his fingers on the clean material, uncaring of Shizuo's highly unamused look that acquiesces with a sigh. Because Izaya is just too much to handle and Shizuo has to _lower_ himself with the audacity of thinking he's on par. He's not and will never be at the level of a benevolent god, fitted to the depths of whatever beastly hell devised by humans to keep him locked there for as long as they can and forget about it. All too easy.

Shizuo shifts to the end of the couch and murmurs something about taking a nap. Izaya pretends not to hear it over the sound of the scratching hiss within his eardrums. It's still there no matter how many times he tries to close his eyes and blank his mind, little cities behind his eyes crumbling to dust with the dedication built into each crashing down. Bright lights blinking out over night skies and while still in the daytime he pictures the same realm of his he has kept for so long—and then it falls. Ripping the ground open and swallowing every last thing left to take down the god that built them and laugh when the roar is dulled to silence in his ears.

Withdrawal is hell.

_~_

" _How's it going?"_ Shinra chirps from the other end of the line and— _oh,_ Shizuo can give details of the entire fucking day no matter the fact it's only eighteen hours into the day. _"Still holding yourself together? You know, I'm actually impressed with how long you've managed to hold on and not kill someone or break something. That's really something, you know! And if you wouldn't mind—"_ Shizuo pinches a growl in his throat and shakes his head to himself, leaning against the wall. From where he's standing in the hallway he can see Izaya sleeping on the couch (doesn't belong there not this parasite) as he has been for hours. Probably not the best, but he has other things to care about than the damn flea.

" _No._ " Shizuo can imagine the light in Shinra's eyes when proposing to be tested. Only to shut it down because no matter how much he pleads Shizuo isn't going to resort to becoming even more of a monster than he is. "And there will be more things broken if you don't keep your mouth shut. You should be thanking me for keeping the flea alive for this long." There's more he wants to add and ramble on the fact he hates the damn bug but he's aware Shinra knows this already. The urge is still tight and tensing in his throat and his eyes make a point of never looking at Izaya. "So what do you want, bragging rights? I said I'd keep him alive, damn it. But you can't expect me to be a fucking babysitter." Fingers clench and grind into his phone before the plastic begins to groan.

Shinra laughs to himself. _"Another day then. Don't worry about it, I'm proud of you, Shizuo. You've managed for so long, your longest record of keeping him alive while in the same room as him! You know, I'm beginning to doubt,"_ Shizuo growls low as if daring Shinra to continue, unaware of the danger from so far away, " _that you really hate him as much as you say you do. Although I'm mainly calling to check up on my patient, seeing as I'm being paid and I'll be wiring your pay to your bank account by tonight. By the way, how's he doing? Any problems besides the usual?"_

Oh, money. Payment for his...services. Which makes him scowl and frown at the same time because thinking of being paid for babysitting a flea doesn't sound right. Not like it has been, or anything else that has developed in the past three days. But for some reason it makes his stomach clench tightly in disgust. "Keep your bullshit theories to yourself, Shinra. I'm not interested." Shinra tries to cover a laugh and fails miserably. "And no, the damn flea's only as shitty as always. Only more because he's an ungrateful little shit." When he's not even paying attention, the sight of blood comes to mind and it takes seconds of wondering where the memory comes from until he remembers bloodstained fingers and a grim smile that only sticks on Izaya's lips like frozen sticky candy. Angry eyes and never saying a word after the conversation and it just so _happens_ that Izaya's too much of a prude to tell what the fuck he did to his secretary.

" _Sounds like him. Is there any chance I could talk to him?"_ Little explanation as to why Shinra would want to listen to Izaya's bullshit is suspicious. But since Shizuo doesn't care and Izaya should be awake by now or he'll never get to sleep, Shizuo decides to wake him up as he pads over to the sofa, not bothering to cover the speaker on his phone as he does.

"Oi, oi, Izaya. Wake the fuck up." Shizuo shoves Izaya's uninjured shoulder, shaking him until red eyes start to form slivers in the creases of dark eyelashes and his brow wrinkles. "Shinra wants to talk to you." Izaya gives a type of murderous glare and pushes himself up carefully, turning his head away from Shizuo until he's fully up and Shizuo dumps the phone in his lap. "Don't take too long. I'm making dinner." Knowing Izaya the louse probably murmurs an insult to his intelligence or to his brutish nature while digging the phone out of his lap and holding it up to ear. Pretending to feign interest Shizuo turns away and heads to the kitchen, thinking of simple recipes for the both of them and not looking forward to another yudofu in his face. See if the smarmy bastard likes it when Shizuo's the one who has wheeled him to the fucking bathroom and doesn't give him shit about it. (Except the crashing noises and the soft grunts means that Izaya can't even use the bathroom on his own, so no room to talk for him.)

" _Hey, Izaya, how are you doing?"_ Izaya pulls the phone away from his ear, disgusted that he's touching Shizuo's dirty cellphone and lowers the volume with a pulled hiss. Shinra acts like it's all fine and dandy that he's sitting in the apartment of his enemy and even angrier than a cat in water because of a certain reason—which he doesn't want to explain. Enduring the food is enough as is.

"Fine, Shinra. What do you want." Flippantly replying he hears cupboards open and shut with resounding slaps of wood against wood from Shizuo slamming them like a child. Today is not the day for dealing with anyone. If it's not first Shizuo, then it's Shinra. Again the pressure in his lower abdomen and he's frustrated enough that he fell asleep for so long without attending to _it._ Shinra may even notice from the growl in his voice but whether or not he cares is entirely debatable.

" _Still grumpy. You'll get over that soon, I'm told. Just upping your intake so your mood will improve. Well, maybe not overall, but there may still be hope for you."_ Shinra laughs at his own joke in the pregnant pause that filters to the other side in a silent reply of telling him to go fuck himself. Not that Izaya would bother saying it. _"How has everything been for you? Any pain when you're eating or afterward? Something along those lines? I hope those painkillers are working for your injuries, and I'll probably need to see you back in two weeks if you live that long."_ So reliable in making bets on how long Izaya will live. Ha, ha, ha.

"Not if you keep me with the beast." Izaya rolls his eyes, pressing his cast against the ache in his abdomen. _Why now_ is reverberating in his skull and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the humiliation of the burning underneath his skin. His—metal death contraption— _wheelchair_ has been placed beside the couch for him. How lovely, if only it could solve his problems without sparing the humiliation. "And Shizu-chan's cooking is making me ill all the time. Good thing he'd rather watch me choke on my own vomit than listen when I'm possibly dying of food poisoning." A bit snappier, but still. He's not in the mood for anything right now.

" _I doubt it's Shizuo-kun's cooking. He's actually good, but not as great as my beloved Celty—Ow!"_ Judging by the sound of Shinra's unnecessarily loud yelp Izaya can confirm that Celty just punched him. _"But what kind of pain are you having? Sharp? Bloating, cramps, anything like that?"_ Why does this have to be so...difficult (to say the least) to talk about? Because Shinra doesn't care, and Izaya doesn't need anyone's pity. There isn't a need to overthink it and doing so by bringing up the mere thought makes Izaya scowl and shake the thoughts away and filed as unimportant. He can't afford to waste time on trivial things like emotions and shame.

"You make it sound so easy, Shinra." Izaya snarls a silent _yes_ and Shinra picks up on it easily after years of knowing Izaya and when to quit ignoring him. "What have you done, experimentation?" Normally he'd push a little more just to make Shinra mildly annoyed when he's already used to Izaya's antics, but now is most certainly not the time with the unaware brute in the kitchen, clunking around like a fool.

" _Okay, got it. Bloating, cramps, anything else? I'd say sorry, but then I realize who I'm talking to and—"_

Izaya feels a vein snap in his lack of patience and the very fine string growing thin."Yes, yes, I deserve it. Would you hurry it along? You're wasting my time." If Shinra doesn't know any better he would say that Izaya's being ungrateful and overall just regular Izaya, but since Shinra happens to know Izaya instead of the bastard he is, he feels slightly concerned for his patient.

" _Izaya,"_ Shinra steps tentatively and Izaya doesn't like where this is going. _"You're not...you're not in pain constantly, are you? I mean, digestion can be uncomfortable for a couple hours, but it usually goes down after. How long is this lasting, and when did it start?"_

There isn't a point in being irritated for having to reveal himself because he will only be stripped bare if he doesn't do it himself. "Since you decided to feed me soup broth. The symptoms don't have an end, Shinra." Izaya clicks his tongue with a tsk, grinding his teeth when another cupboard door slams shut and feels the temptation to turn and throw the phone at Shizu-chan. He can already feel the headache forming. Questions jammed into hollow and angry accusations still his tongue and breathe fire through his lungs when he wants to speak. Having better control than a monster and willing to prove it to himself for the sake of knowing he isn't insane yet he doesn't start and reigns his anger in with a tight rope. Squeezing into his chest and tucked into his ribs sinking further with each breathy inhale and tight sigh of an exhale to squeeze them into his lungs while it cuts like paper knives.

Shinra falls silent for a little longer than usual and Izaya is almost tempted to either turn off the phone or hurl it at Shizu-chan, but in curiosity he stays on the line, silent and uncharacteristically never making a motion to pick up the conversation. It isn't one he wants to have anyway. And then after the slamming cupboards fall silent and Izaya's left arm starts to buzz with numbness as it presses into his side, Shinra speaks up again. Quieter this time—almost in a low murmur—reigning Izaya back into the reluctant conversation between them. Things haven't been the same since he—

It doesn't matter. They already know. Everyone does.

" _It sounds like you're suffering from refeeding syndrome, Izaya. If you're not sleeping or if you can't get comfortable, you need to tell me now. You know I only want to make sure you're—"_ And then deciding he's heard enough Izaya quickly cuts him off with his usual amount of nonchalance and the silent effigy of _don't say it_ standing in the corner and cutting him down and trying to pry inside.

"Alive. Tell me something I don't know." Izaya quips, earning a scoff from Shinra and wonders if Celty's listening in. Knowing Shinra, she probably knows every conversation they have and for some reason it twists into his stomach like a knife. He hates this (being exposed being discovered) sort of being treated like an idiot. He's not stupid—quite the contrary. And if no one else can figure that out then his humans are far more stupid than he once believes them to be. "Just tell me how to make it stop and I'll roll over like a good mutt." he tries to sound like he's sneering but it comes out as bitter with anger. Not good—control restrict abstain maintain—to lose himself now when it's only been a day.

Shinra shifts going by the sound from the rustling noises in the background and then the receiver brushes against him before he speaks. At this point he sounds exhausted and if only he knew maybe he won't say too much of pretending to know what it is to spend two months at the home of his archenemy. It's not as easy as it sounds. _"Okay, we'll have to deduct your calorie intake for this week and move to okayu or something light. If Shizuo-kun's already doing that, then that's fine. I'll let him know that he needs to cut back on you if you're still suffering from being overfed."_ he pauses and Izaya listens in as if decoding the thoughts on Shinra's mind. _"What's concerning is that a small amount of food is causing you to be ill. But then again, I don't know the full story."_ A direct stab and as ineffective as it is Izaya does have to give props when he feels it sink into his abdomen with the burning urge and then remembering that his situation isn't the best for idle conversation. Shinra's ego can be stroked with his own hand or Celty's if need be and not off of Izaya's endurance which he clearly can test with a mocking smile and calling to pretend. That's all it is—play pretend until it grows old and Izaya remains behind because they're not going to actually (understand and listen and) _care_ , now would they?

The burning is too much to keep conversation. "That discussion is for another time. If you're going to bother to waste mine, then forget it." With a click of ending the call Izaya tosses the phone across from him and pulls away as if burned while he shifts—uncomfortably sizzling his organs—and reaches for the wheelchair, pulling it closer while the muscles in his shoulders prick and groan with the stretch. If he can maneuver onto the chair with one hand then he's lucky and in danger of twisting his wrist. And recounting more injuries for each day with the brute isn't what he wants to do when all he would rather do is get out of here and forget this sort of mental torture everyone must have a joy to witness. The great Izaya Orihara, brought down to relying on someone else from his throne and beaten to be a slave in revenge until he can no longer get up.

With focusing on the task of getting into the wheelchair he doesn't notice or doesn't care that Shizuo watches from the kitchen. It starts from the corner of his eye until it reaches Izaya and he turns fully, watching the hateful bastard try and move into the wheelchair and using his uninjured limbs to push himself despite the stifled hisses and grunts that result from each failed attempt. When the number climbs higher and the chair slips away with a taunting squeak of the wheels and Izaya swaying forward Shizuo decides it's best to put Izaya out of his misery. Too bad he can't use just his fingers and—he's never been that kind of monster and nor would he wish to start.

"Here, let me help you." Shizuo says and the look on Izaya's face is utter anger until he pulls it back in and stuffs it behind the cold mask of indifference. Scandalized is a good look for him while Shizuo moves to the couch, pulling the wheelchair back to the sofa and with one arm around Izaya's waist he pulls the unwilling and undeserving flea into the chair. As fitting as he looks with a pouting child's expression and the scowl of the pathetic bastard he truly is Izaya's lips contort into a twisted sneer and his left arm moves to dig into his stomach. And because of Shizuo's caretaking _duties,_ insult to injury seems appropriate when why he should spare any humanity to the pit of psychopathy bound to a wheelchair—Shizuo, no. Swallow down the insults and the anger in his veins running at boiling temperatures because he can't afford a blowup and getting angry when Izaya isn't actually provoking him.

The thought, as much as he doesn't want to admit it, is enough to bring him to the realization that Izaya still looks like he's in pain. "Need something, flea?" Almost choking when how quiet he sounds compared to the earlier near-constant shouting and accusing and—Izaya's a flea. That's how it is and that's how it is supposed to be when questioning this is something neither of them want to do.

(But avoiding this sounds too impossible to do for long if he can't predict the flea anymore.)

"Forget it, Shizu-chan. I didn't ask." Izaya grinds out, grasping himself tighter and effectively curling himself into the ball of wanting to forget this and ignore that maybe he isn't right for now. Now if only Shizu-chan would stop giving him such a pathetic look like he can't see it when it's right there it would be beneficial in lowering the risk of Izaya wanting to kill the stupid brute. Wait until Shizu-chan actually has the nerve and the brain to suffocate him with those choking fingers of his and laugh because it's just too perfect. A no-win situation of dying either way and practically infinite possibilities. Royally served his own death when there isn't a doubt he deserves this in their system of morals. Rip a god from his throne and then there is no one to guide but the rebels that will only tear him apart.

Fitting for a god of destruction. "Come on flea, you don't look fine to me." Shizuo tries again and the restraint is audible in the scratching warning of his voice. As intimidating as he thinks he is, Izaya's eyes are far worse when he knows danger as orchestrated from his left—broken, useless—hand. "Are you gonna throw up again or what?"

Izaya smiles dangerously with a weak grin where his teeth don't flash. Spot on. "Almost, Shizu-chan." Cryptic as it is Shizuo doesn't bother, rolling his eyes and grabbing the chair from behind, remembering that the ramen isn't on the stove yet. Without another word they're wheeling down the hallway to the closest bathroom and Izaya seems only to cringe more and more as they approach (what is going on with him now?) and Shizuo leaves the chair at the door, pushing it open and muttering something among the lines of letting Izaya take care of himself. Not what he would normally do for an ill person—but Izaya isn't a person and he has no intention of making that association when it would only serve to insult everyone else. Izaya himself, the shitty psychopathic flea.

Just as he's turning to leave Izaya's voice stops him with the steady and dare he say—pathetic—tone. "Wait, Shizu-chan."

Silence hangs in the air when Shizuo doesn't turn around and the words struggle to untangle from Izaya's mouth and even if he speaks them they mean certain death. Only one sum and one game to play over and over with new rules and he makes none of them. Like himself in torture that only he can't control what becomes of him or who he has to ask _help_ from to allow himself to be mocked. Kick him while he's down and crush his throat with one final stomp (when it's that much easier) in true Shizuo fashion.

"It's not...to my advantage," Izaya struggles and it sounds ridiculous coming from him when Shizuo has to resist the urge to sneer while Izaya forces the words and retains that stupid self-confident air of narcissism about him. "When my arm can't support my weight."

"So?" Shizuo turns and leans against the frame of the arch to his living room. "What am I supposed to do about it, flea? You've already said yourself that you don't need my help." With that he turns and at the same time he turns his back on pretending to be nice when the anger is surging in his fingertips at the smirk on Izaya's face—no matter how fake it is don't _look_ and just keep walking—and the urge to strangle him is filling his blood and any rational thought that Izaya doesn't deserve in the first place. Petty revenge and he's guilty of it in the first degree of selfishness, just like Izaya, and the irony is that Shizuo claims he isn't a monster nearly as evil as Izaya is. So if he mimics him then it doesn't mean anything because copying a monster isn't the same as watching him struggle with asking for help and no matter how self-assured he sounds Shizuo knows in some corner of his mind that his breath catches with each try. Why Izaya would hesitate now of all times he doesn't know when he refuses to know the flea any more than the monster he is. That's all there is to him and Shizuo doesn't want to be infected with insanity any more than he already has been.

"Shizu-chan, I can't do it by myself." Izaya confesses in the most basic form while in his mind he calls it stating the blatant truth. Tightens his clutch on his abdomen and the burning sting and the humiliation sure to follow when gods don't feel emotions. Humiliation is a sign of weakness. Stop it and stop pretending that it's frustrating. But no matter how desperate he falls in the eyes of a beast he will never beg like a human. Izaya is above that. "So help me, ne, or I'll ruin your floor." The threat becoming a promise Izaya doesn't realize for a different reason Shizuo gives a defeated sigh and moves to push Izaya in the bathroom with the door slowly closing behind them.

And then it starts to click why Izaya's face is a slight red like his eyes and he bites his lips until they split and bleed in anger. Far enough in Izaya shoves Shizuo away with a weak push and Shizuo takes the sign to leave the spoiled flea to his own while heading back to the kitchen. Clearing his mind would require bleach and cleaning supplies and even then the bloodstains won't fade when they come back to haunt him every night and every single time he catches the pools of blood for Izaya's eyes, befitting of a true monster.

It's a long road, Shizuo realizes when neither speak a word at dinner and he continues to force food down Izaya's throat, where they are now. Shizuo doesn't mention or doesn't notice that Izaya drops a call on Shinra not too long ago and for the rest of the night neither of them say much besides Shizuo's usual animalistic growling and lumbering around like a caveman. Izaya is too quiet and too still by the time he falls asleep that Shizuo calls Shinra when he sees a missed call on his cellphone turned on silent.

Then he listens. And remembers when he's done and with new instructions in his mind on how to take care of a flea long past the point of sanity and for some reason with a death wish Shizuo won't grant. Resorting to think and remember it all in the morning when he knows the sun doesn't come easy.

He himself is only a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, and a very late update as a final goodbye to 2014.
> 
> Due to the graphic nature of Edge, the rating will be bumped up to explicit from here on out. This will be dealing with realistic issues concerning eating disorders, so not for the faint of heart. Also if you notice any spelling errors, please let me know.
> 
> The reason I have not been active lately is due to lacking the will to write, so it is mainly influenced by my own issues and just not finding the energy or motivation to finish. To be short, I've not been feeling well enough to write or do much of anything related to Edge. As for updates, expect them always on a Wednesday, at least twice a month. I'll try and be fair about updating pretty normally. 
> 
> I hope to keep posting next year and that everyone enjoys reading my works as much as I enjoy writing them.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	11. Half of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the truth isn't worth knowing when it comes down to the consequences that come with.

_~_

 

_...Find the flaws and count them._  
  


The good thing that comes with having their balcony rail fixed is that Dennis is kind enough not to ask questions. He also brings along Simon when Russia Sushi is closed for the day and Shinra is grateful enough to let them into his apartment with their tools to fix the warped pathetic piece of metal that was once his balcony. Seeing as his apartment manager doesn't really need to know, a promise of payment and coming out to Russia Sushi (it's really not that bad, getting past the weird combos of the day) for dates with Celty a little more often for promotional matters. Dennis is kind enough to greet them and Simon with his eyes that see too much and never tell, is easily wise enough to understand why Shinra can't let his apartment manager know, and both realize that Celty is slightly exasperated at the time. Throughout the ordeal she's in and out of the apartment, keeping her helmet on as her own idea and typing answers to Dennis' questions of how she is and other small talk. Simon's not good at chitchat so he doesn't start to try. He prefers observing when the air is sterile with tension and heavy breaths don't apply to the high altitude of pretending not to understand but really knowing more than others would want to believe he does.

What they both learn is that Shinra's railing was broken a week ago. And it had something to do with a certain Heiwajima Shizuo, which they can clearly tell without the hint of words by the hand prints in the railing flesh and the general state of disarray. And one week ago exactly they haven't seen or heard of either the blond or Izaya, which is strange enough with just one disappearance. But two? Somehow Ikebukuro seems restless and Dennis agrees that the atmosphere seems tense. Shinra talks on his cellphone by text while they work quietly, sometimes talking back and forth to each other in Russian.

By the sound of what Celty hears when she arrives, Shinra sounds content. When she asks he replies the name _Aka_ and Celty's beginning to think that phone calls are all too often now when Izaya is gone and he certainly has left his mark of beginning the chaos. But she's happy that Shinra can make another friend after the strained relationship with Izaya. After all, she's been communicating with Shiki-san, ranging in proof from the text messages on her phone to the request to meet with him and discuss the payment he offers for Izaya's care. She's still not sure what role Shiki has, but she is curious enough to find out and maybe without telling Shinra. For his own benefit, she thinks, and it's the best that Shinra doesn't know some things. Not that secrets are her favorite things, but rather preferring to avoid the issues that come with disagreements and the parts of her work that she already has to keep with one-way relationships be it with Shizuo, Izaya, or Shiki-san.

Speaking of whom, Celty remembers that the package of money tucked within her bodysuit is for her, given directly by Shiki-san himself while she holds others in her sleeves. One for Shiki's payments on the surgery and equipment borrowed, and another for Shizuo she needs to deliver. Personally she doesn't know where the money is coming from exactly, but as long as she is paid for her delivery (amongst other services, which if she thinks about she feels the slightest twinge of guilt) she doesn't necessarily ponder the meaning of how the money is earned and retrieved. Her job is the messenger: not to question where her payment comes from. Snapping out of the self-induced deeper thought discussion of morality, she types to Shinra while he texts.

[How is Aka-san?] She remembers that Shinra has said that she was pregnant—twins, she recalls, and the thought is intriguing, disturbing, and confusing all at the same time. From what Shinra says, this woman sounds like an interesting person with the personality and kindness stemming behind the serious and secrecy. What she wonders is how Shinra is even involved with a character like her in the first place until she remembers that he happens to also to be acquaintances with Izaya. Considering herself as well...she's not too sure on what she wants to say about it. She certainly has proven to care about his well-being, but—

"Aka-san? She's doing alright." Shinra hums happily, glancing at Simon and Dennis while they continue fixing the balcony and are on the verge of finishing bolting the new metal to the ground. "Three months into her pregnancy, and she's pregnant with twins. Isn't that amazing Celty? How the human body is so versatile in adapting to carrying more than one life form and providing equal amounts of nutrition. Which for her carries the consequences of more morning sickness and body pain provided by the twins, but it's still one of the mysteries of the human body undiscovered by science." Shinra's eyes start to glaze and maybe Celty's eye, or smoke, rather, twitches just a little at his eccentrics. Then again when switching between two topics of differing extremes it's harder to keep herself focusing when Shinra doesn't have the passion for uninteresting or stressful topics if he can avoid them.

[Are the blood tests back today?] Again with changing the topic where she should be ashamed for resorting to tactics of switching conversation when uncomfortable, yet she can't seem to help it. Pregnancy for a human female sounds horrifying despite her more than extensive knowledge provided to her unwilling participation. With today also being Monday, she knows that Aka-san mentioned they would be back today a week ago. It's also on her mind and running through her thoughts that she hasn't heard from Shizuo in days since Thursday and is more than slightly tempted to go make sure the two are alright. Shinra assures her that they're fine and they're just getting used to different living arrangements.

Shinra pauses for a moment, face lighting up almost instantly like the rare moments in which Celty replies _love you too_ in the quiet of wherever they are. "Yeah, I'm waiting for her to send them to me right now. They'll determine any deficiencies in his blood for nutrients, and confirm some other things." Why is he being vague on the subject matter? Celty wonders this and she thinks that possibly he believes she doesn't care for the technical terms. Yet she does and with each day of making Izaya's condition a reality she starts to consider more and more of the technical details as an added part of not being able to ignore it any longer. "And with them, I'll get a better diagnosis of what's going on with Izaya. With her knowledge on mental disorders as well, but I'm not skilled in that sort of thing." He beams at her, turning away nearly instantly when his phone buzzes and the screen lights up with an alert for a new text message. Celty can only guess with an obvious inference as to who it is, dismissing her thoughts and deciding to find something to do until her next delivery in half an hour.

The television on some game show Celty isn't paying attention to, she tries to tune out the noise of construction on the balcony while her mind is filling with chaotic thoughts. Out of habit her PDA slips into her fingers and soon enough she is composing a message to Shizuo for the more than twentieth time in the last several days of anticipation and self-debating from consequence to sacrifice if she doesn't at least try to call. Maybe with enough intention and the right words to say in just a simple greeting she can send it this time. [Hey, Shizuo, how have you been doing? It's been a while since we've last talked and I hope you and Izaya are doing alright together. I know it's hard that you two have been living together, but I'm sure...] No, it doesn't sound right at all. Delete. Hmm, maybe something a little more to the point? [Hey! It's been a while since we've talked. How are you doing? Are you alright with Izaya?] No—that sounds patronizing. Or just rude.

Again, and just try to be normal for once where it's supposed to matter without worrying about breathing fresh air after conversation underwater. She knows it's been a hectic past week and even if it's Monday she doesn't want to think about the week ahead. [How have you been doing? I'm kind of worried about you, especially with you two alone for so long and in the same room for a while. Are you doing alright?] When it just so happens that Shinra pops up behind her right as she thinks this message isn't right and announces the news of the test results as well as a diagnosis that she presses 'send' in an accident of slipping fingers. 'Message sent' relays on her screen and with a silent groan veiled in a puff of smoke Celty's shoulders sag with the realization of the message she has sent, unaware that Shinra is reading over her shoulder.

"Finally sent him a message? I was wondering what was keeping you from texting him." he comments, completely unaware of how off-guard he catches her and she squeaks silently, frustrated and not at all amused that he has just read her text messages _without_ her permission and decides to announce his presence now. "Though I'm not sure if you want to share the results with him yet. Would you like to hear?" Eyes lighting up again he doesn't seem to realize that Celty is embarrassed and irritated going by the puffs of smoke (or simply doesn't care which is entirely possible) and she refuses to answer him until he makes it clear that he does experience moments of stupidity. This happens to be one of them and yet he manages to ignore it. "Well, Aka-san just sent me the breakdown of each of the tests she's run. First of all, they confirm that his electrolytes are off-balance and all his nutrient levels are really low. The ketosis level in his blood concentration measured within the range of fasting for a long period of time between three and six millimolar."

Celty listens despite herself, curious in the defense for Izaya's sake and refusing to give up on letting Shinra behave inappropriately. Shinra leans on his elbows, cupping his face in his hands on his palms facing the television yet his eyes are on Celty and the silence buzzes between them when Celty isn't giving him a reply or even looking in his direction though whether he can see her shoulders shaking is another fairy tale in the same dictionary. "Which is just the measurement for how the blood concentration is counted. Basically it's the measure of ketones, molecules produced by the liver for energy when the body runs out of glucose from food. Normal blood concentration can be from less than .2 percent to 3.5 percent after exercise. However, Izaya's levels are so high that she says he's clearly been without food for a while. Hence the stomachaches whenever he eats a little more than usual, and cramping as well. Pancytopenia, or reduction of red and white blood cells is also what he's come up as positive for, which just confirms it even more." Shinra sighs, letting the diagnosis run through his head and start to sink in the with the well-deserved rebuttal of wanting to deny this is even happening or not noticing it before. He _is_ Izaya's doctor, but a friend—he's supposed to know these things.

Maybe Celty notices that he sounds a little more down than usual in the self-criticism. She knows Izaya's symptoms in gruesome detail due to Shinra's constant updates and Shizuo's as well until Thursday, but not generally what they all mean until now. And the update only seems to penetrate the first layer of the knowledge committing to understanding what it means for Izaya and how it relates. It all seems so unreal when putting to fact that maybe Izaya isn't as alright as they want to believe and getting him to believe it too is something else when Celty isn't sure how far her compassion extends. "Celty, my dearest, would you remind me later when I call Shizuo to prescribe Izaya some vitamins? He'll be needing those too. Aka-san is also prescribing some anti-anxiety medications to start. She says she'd rather have him test them out first before she decides on anything else." Shinra rattles on, talking to include Celty while he confirms the information with the knowledge in memory from his phone.

More texts are on the way from Aka (and it sounds strange saying the name when he never addresses her as such) for her thoughts on Izaya's other conditions. Mainly his mental ones, but Shinra already knows he's practically insane while being a doctor is no short stretch of sanity in retaining calm whenever patching up a victim such as Izaya without the good mind of questioning why he hasn't started the concern or where he lost it all down the drain of Izaya's mind. Celty would punch him if she ever hears, so he keeps the jabbing comments to himself. And then waits for the fingers to fly over the keyboard. [Alright.] Short, quick, and to the point. Something seems off, Shinra notices this immediately when taking the time to examine Celty's body language without a shred of humility when not needed. Clearing his head, he's starting to believe there is more than he has realized before and feels a little guilty for ignoring his beloved for the slightest of moments.

"Celty, I—" Buzz. Celty's PDA goes back to her and she excuses herself, answering the text message as she walks and heads to her room while Shinra remains standing upright from the sudden end of discussion. Watching her leave makes his heart ache when he knows she's just down the hall and perhaps starts to understand that he has in fact violated Celty's privacy with her texts. But how? He always tells her what he receives, so why should it matter?

And then with a buzz of a notification from his phone does he realize some texts he hasn't shared with Celty. Or plans to at all. In the defense for her own sake and well-being he reasons with himself as why not to share and yet he can't help but feel a little more guilt when it's his beloved.

_~_

Nausea is beginning to punctuate the passing of days from bad to worse with violent head-banging walls scratching with filling the nights left alone and unblinking. Worse to terrible and terrible to miserable in denial and an isolating sort of harassment and humiliation from only the worst source available. Shizu-chan is the worst for being a beast and having to take care of Izaya like a stupid doll without a conscience and none of the intelligence that Izaya happily boasts of at any other time. Right now it happens to be more seething and angry barbs while quietly settling into a routine of having to ignore the present. Which fails to work for long when Shizuo has to force Izaya out of his thoughts, angry or not, and listen to his stupidity for another time and remember with the least fondness that he is undoubtedly bound to a metal torture device. Wheelchair, as Shinra calls it.

And the brute is on the other end of the couch once again finding himself within the same vicinity as Izaya and the exuding hatred he brings at this stage of one week into whatever this is. Phone in hand, almost mocking Izaya directly but with enough foresight to make fun of him beyond his reach of current capabilities. Shizu-chan is still an idiot either way, no matter what he does when Izaya refuses to believe that a monster could be anything but a monster. Devolved protozoan, mindless idiot, amoeba, whatever comes to mind in the heat of arguing be it over eating (really preferring not to remember the experience of each time), bathing, or anything of frustrating worthlessness. There isn't much to make Izaya hate Shizuo less than he does with each passing moment such as watching a boring movie with Kasuka in it because Shizuo doesn't give a shit what Izaya wants to watch.

Unbeknownst to him, Shizuo is texting Celty, surprised after hearing from her in a while and also recalling that he has forgotten to text her for quite some time. [Sorry about not keeping in contact. Louse being an annoying shit is all.] he texts and looks back at the screen, watching Kasuka's acting as the main character in the title of the movie he currently forgets. Izaya looks bored out of his mind and itching to do something, but he doesn't care for now. All morning he's been having to deal with arguments and childishness from the idiot who refuses to eat at all. Even with the reduced meals for whatever reasons, the temper tantrums are grating his nerves to the edge of the breaking point all too easily. He knows the promise that he made with Shinra, and even with Celty, but more often than not it's just too easy to snap Izaya's neck to shut him up already. This isn't what he's supposed to do and for some reason he pushes the ideals of what he's _supposed_ to do to the back of his mind in the unconscious ease of ignoring that Izaya is a human and Shizuo has problems of his own. Ugly, disgusting ones not like the newer scars on Izaya's arm but more thick in the soft fatty tissue of his brain that is very much there and full of knowledge and grinding with sticky blood with the pulsation of heartbeats. And Izaya is the definition of insanity.

Celty texts back pretty quickly. [It's alright. It's good to hear that you've kept yourself and Izaya alive for a week now, so thank you for that. But how have you been handling it? I know it's been hard on you.] Shizuo pulls a near smirk at this because she's right again and without sparing a glance to the shitty flea he can already answer. Though how to answer without crushing his phone is the more difficult of his current problems.

[I hate him. He's so damn annoying with the mood swings and the constant bitching about not wanting to eat, not wanting to do anything that's actually good for him. Everything I do he's throwing a hissy fit.] he responds, narrowing his eyes and digging fingernails into his palm to draw blood while shifting over the veins that pump guilt and numb his fingers and hopefully not cracking this phone into pieces. He can't afford another one and with a paycheck he can, but he's not interested in constantly replacing his phone. [What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he just this insane constantly or did Shinra experiment on his brain too?] Izaya sighs from the other side of the sofa, propping his head on his right arm with a bandage keeping the wrist covered after a negotiation following Izaya's strange self-harming habits. A reminder to not waste Shizuo's time to deal with another of Izaya's problems and push it away because it's not supposed to exist so it doesn't. Whether or not it is another factor in keeping Izaya from sleeping at night he doesn't want to care or know. Shinra would call it something else, the bastard. The worst part is that he is too because he knows this for a fact of not sleeping on his couch and everything is tense and stale and he now is the warden of his own prison filling quickly with rust and leaking blood.

Buzz. Izaya's eyes slide over to him with a fixed glare in his gaze but they move away when there isn't anything interesting to see. [Actually, it may not be him. The increased calories have an effect on his mood. So if he's having severe mood swings, he's been having too much. What have you been doing so far?] Calming himself down by watching Kasuka move play-by-play is somewhat helpful until he catches Izaya squirming on the couch again. Bored out of his mind and there happens to be not a fucking thing for Shizuo to do for him if he's the one who is going to bitch constantly in _his_ apartment.

His fingers move on the keys clumsily. [A handful, four times a day. No high calorie stuff. He just likes to bitch because he can.] And that is debatable in the fact he doesn't have any idea what it means to put food in his mouth and chew and swallow while waiting for the stomachaches to kick in and the cramps in muscles he can't stretch confined in itchy casts. Burning, swelling, itching, nauseating and bloating disgusting stabs of self-pity and anger because eating disorders, he doesn't know yet, are physical torture as well as in the mind of a fragile state from electrified storms. Then to understand the whole concept of hating every bite that pushes down his throat when his brain sets on fire and wires sputter and jolt with burning electricity to numbing jolts of why each morning of waking up is an exhausting count of waiting for Shizuo to wake and force Izaya a little more. Down every limb and every last inch with fury mixing with rage and never being enough to make it end. Only to be ignored—but again, just a theory. Not like he cares. Racing heartbeat and mind-numbing thoughts don't apply to Shizuo when he's lucky enough to never have the experience of why Izaya's brain is malfunctioning like it is and he's just an overreacting idiot to everyone else, including himself. There is no logical reason why he does this and that's one of the worst parts to hate himself for.

It takes Celty minutes to come back with the next reply and Izaya's shifting again with his lips setting in a scowl. Dinner was an hour ago and he still is shifting like a kid on a sugar high and more bratty than one should ever have the audacity to be. [Again, it can be other things that make him like that. Though you're not doing anything wrong, I'm sorry you have to deal with more than you asked for.] Which is absolutely nothing. Shizuo narrows his eyes at this and starts to realize that his frustration is getting to him. [Also, Shinra wants to call and talk to Izaya. But if you're not busy I can come over tonight and drop off your paycheck and we can go out for a while. Shinra wouldn't mind coming along and talking with Izaya for a while.] The offer sounds relieving because she has no idea how long Shizuo has been itching to scratch the parasite off and out of his skin before he goes mad with the insanity and stupidity he has to deal with.

[Come over if you want. I need a break.] he admits freely and sees no point in hesitation. Never sparing a glance at Izaya—his eyes do _not_ slide to the right—he presses the key to send the message and suddenly feels too tired to answer anymore. Listening to everything about Izaya's condition, Izaya's bitching; it's frustrating. He doesn't want to listen when he's had more than enough for one week and they still argue over Izaya refusing anything. Then the little shit can go on sadistic death rants that can be only a sentence or two or just insulting Shizuo to utter quiet. No response, no glares, nothing. Silence that permeates like the flea's stench which is infecting his apartment and getting fresh air when Izaya sleeps (and he never does, but Shizuo doesn't need to know or care) in wide-eyed stares at the ceiling and passing out from pain and exhaustion. Which isn't often and not long enough before he's awake and irritable like the grumpy asshole he is. Shizuo starts to wonder what causes the severe mood swings but finds it hopeless because he hates Izaya and Izaya despises him just as much, if possibly more when Shizuo one day loses the ability to hate him any more than he already does.

"Shizu-chan," oh shit he's slipped and cut the guilt vein until he smothers it with his hand and anger bubbles up instead. "I'm bored." The upheaval of another complaint that grates Shizuo's raw nerves. Another complaint of the feeling of losing his mind laced in the threat of impending boredom that Shizu-chan will just never understand when he simply doesn't care. Izaya gave up a long time ago on trying to catch interest in a different manner, having been hated since the first meaning simply because of the look on his face. The mood swings are irritatingly out of his reach and Shizu-chan doesn't care until he gets angry and threatens some form of violence to which Izaya can only glare and then fall back down from the rising high. It's not his fault, he reasons, that he can't control the surges of anger or bouncing energy to be spent. All the extra calories from disgusting foods like Shizuo's too salty okayu sit and waste in his digestive system when he wants to run around—or away, more fittingly. So anger comes in with the boredom and frustration that he can't live locked in his own head like this.

Izaya comes to terms with the feeling of losing his mind like pinpricks of needles growing into ones that sink into his skin. They itch and scratch and sting when all he wants to do is be anywhere but here. Shizuo is boring and annoying when Izaya doesn't have the patience to figure out how to cure his own boredom. Shizuo treats him like a doll (too fragile to be taken out, bored out of his mind that starts to cave in on him) and leaves him to sit around and do nothing.

And Izaya is not pleased by simple things like a certain monster is.

"Can't help you, louse." Shizuo grumbles, losing focus on the movie because his mind is preoccupied with the flea. What he's planning, how long this argument is going to last—would he stop twitching damn it—"Stop twitching." And Shizuo admits freely that he is a horrible caretaker, even with the asshole who doesn't deserve a shred of compassion. To which he finds himself still questioning why he's doing this in the first place—one fucking reason. One.

And Shinra is an asshole too. Cheeky one as well. "You're boring, Shizu-chan. All you do is stuff me in some corner of your apartment and pretend I'm not here and that I happen to need entertainment." Izaya huffs and squirms again, fingers twitching while Shizuo now fully has his attention on the damn twitching. Why yes, he is a horrible person to rely on. What does he know about giving a fuck about Izaya anyway? "No point in being here if you ignore me, Shizu-chan." Now Izaya's voice dips lower from its usual annoying cadence and into the territory of anger. It's the start of another danger sign of a mood swing about to happen and should he ask in a different situation than this Shizuo would realize that Izaya has been feeling ill for days on end from the food shoved down his throat.

Finally he gives in. Eyes on narrowed red ones, watching for the familiar signs of anger coming out and hoping blindly and stupidly, why not, to avoid another mood swing. Izaya is already fucking nuts, not that he needs to reaffirm it with Shizuo. "What do you want to do then, flea? I can't help you if you don't tell me."

Izaya stops like the deadened light of stop signs in his eyes and Shizuo wonders where it's gone. Down the streets in the glimmer of fading streetlights on the missed trail back to Shinjuku and heavy like the falter of limping when Shizuo doesn't feel his own strength creaking Izaya's limps and snapping the more delicate restraints of self-assurance like toothpicks. The glare widens marginally and he isn't believing what his ears are telling him. Then he laughs bitterly and Shizuo hates the hollow sound scraping against his ears. "You don't care what I want, Shizu-chan. Why should I waste my time when you don't care?" he tapers off, murmuring more to himself at the end of his protest and feels the weight on the couch shifting. He snaps his gaze back to Shizuo from staring into space and finds that his mind is aching with boredom and brewing in its own demise.

"No, tell me. If you don't, I can't make you stop complaining." Shizuo counts under his breath, trying to calm his own anger while Izaya's is much more tangible in justification of spilling his own blood to make _someone fucking listen already_. Just hold on—don't fall for the same game. "So start telling me what you want to do besides the things you can't. You should have enough intelligence to know already." What's this, a compliment? From Shizu-chan no less and Izaya is beginning to think he is losing his mind. Waiting for Celty is taking too damn long and whatever she's doing isn't important enough right now to leave him having to deal with this. But it's now or never.

The best part is as of now Izaya's thoughts aren't considering anything to have a witty comeback. Shizu-chan possibly offering to be human without any effort and all combining with the fleeting thoughts already in his head only serve to give him a headache.

"Well? I'm listening, flea." Of course he is. Izaya hears it as a knife dragging across the skin of his eardrum to puncture it. Feeling the burn of acid in his stomach with a crashing feeling of nausea, Izaya finds himself biting his tongue instead. Not like Shizu-chan would ever understand what he's doing or why, since not even humans can simply comprehend matters beyond him.

"Find something to do, Shizu-chan." Izaya murmurs low and turns his gaze to the infuriating monster. "Because being here is keeping me from my clients, my work, and my intelligence. All a stupid monster like you can do is take out your frustrations on me and watch the reaction. So there is no point of me saying anything, because you'll never change the mind of a savage beast." he spits like venom, nearly completing the image with a missing hiss but the ruby eyes angrily narrowed provide enough.

Thankfully Shizuo's phone manages to buzz before he can get two hands around Izaya's neck and remembers that he can't. Guilt starts to pool in bruises like the same ones in fingerprints committed in a shameless crime of ignorance which happens to also be the definition of evil. [We can be there in an hour. See you then, Shizuo.] Celty's reply reads and Shizuo keeps the words on repeat for when Izaya turns away and the room falls into another tense silence rushing and pounding in his ears with a quieter roar to remind that they're alive and breathing in the same room. Not living, but the painful quiet burn of existing for one of them in the very least and the other too frustrated with himself than anyone else when he's at the same standing point of committing murder six feet deep. Izaya tongues the split in his lip he continues to chew on and denies to leave alone under Shizuo's glare, proving that Shizuo's continual acts will never get any further than defeating the sole purpose of what example he's supposed to be setting.

And not falling for the trap of what Izaya has so carefully set.

_~_

"Good to see you still alive, Shizuo." Shinra greets casually as can be when Shizuo opens the door to his apartment, studying curiously the frown that comes instead and Shizuo manages a greeting that doesn't sound like he automatically hates how carefree Shinra is. Celty, behind him, is starting to believe that he does need a break more than she's thought.

[How are you?] Celty types, stepping in while Shinra is toeing off his shoes before stepping on the floor. His bag at his side she watches as he moves to Izaya who is lying on the couch, looking bored and irritated at the same time and wondering if Shizuo and Izaya have been fighting up until now. Surprisingly none of them are permanently crippled or dying of any serious wounds like head trauma or a slit throat—Celty shudders. [We should go for a walk. Give you some fresh air.] Shizuo reads the screen, finding himself agreeing with a stiff nod and turning back to Shinra who is lecturing Izaya on something he looks obviously uninterested in. Serves him right, ungrateful asshole who isn't as hypocritical or violent but in silent fury that comes with being ignored.

"We'll be going out for a while." Shizuo calls to them, not caring who listens. "Try not to make the flea any worse." Especially to Shinra while Izaya chuckles darkly, a barb that Shizuo luckily doesn't hear when Celty is insisting that they leave before he can do any permanent damage on the short fuse lit in the same room. Slowly ticking down and faster in Shizuo's hot blood spikes bubbling over veins and the arteries are filled with dark salty frustration-guilt-denial-anger. Completing the cycle of disappointment all on his own and exacerbated when he knows that what he's doing doesn't ever feel right. Only what Izaya would do, being the heartless parasite he is. Shinra waves to Celty, satisfied when she repeats the action and the two exit shortly, closing the door and Shinra hears the lock turn in the newly found silence.

Shinra turns back to Izaya who eyes him with uninterested glaring. Well, to be fair, Shinra is the one who put him here in the first place due to his own decision making which conveniently left Izaya out of an important deciding factor. Nevertheless, the doctor appears unfazed by Izaya's unexpected anger, but does take note of it for purposes that may include later times. "You look bored and like you're going to murder someone. Have you been doing anything at all lately?" Taking a seat on the couch across from Izaya and careful of the broken leg, he pays no attention to the show that's playing and Izaya is only watching him, waiting for something to occur in which Shinra has to disappoint with nothing previously planned.

"I've been sitting in the apartment of a beast, Shinra." Izaya deadpans, clearly unamused at this point and Shinra notices the bandage on his right wrist when he releases the grip of crossed arms on his abdomen. Interesting—catching a flash of white and saving the question that forms for later, as he doesn't remember any extensive injuries on Izaya's right arm that he has treated. "And Shizu-chan is so reluctant as to even look at me like a freak because I can't move around. So I've been doing absolutely _nothing._ " Izaya ends with what sounds like a hiss and he shifts again, uncomfortable and possibly at his limit for dealing with people for the day. The rest of his life if they are only Shizuo and Shinra. "Besides arguing with a stupid, devolved beast and staring at walls all day."

But this is news to Shinra, admittedly even though he hasn't been keeping in touch with Shizuo and Izaya lately. "So you haven't been doing anything? Nothing at all then?" It's not supposed to be surprising like this and perhaps maybe Shinra finds himself starting to become more concerned for Izaya's well-being than a month ago. Right now he focuses on the doctor-patient relationship and saves the analyzing for something else, it sounds tedious even thinking about it. But it isn't as horrifying as it sounds when Izaya looks tired, frustrated, and bored out of his mind.

Izaya runs a hand through his hair, catching the bandage on his wrist and sighing while he untangles the strands caught in the folds. Tugging at the same motion on the ties still connecting to his heart and hoping that the wires for signs of life will catch and pull out in bloody heaps. Just to watch the force of bleeding out in a grim feeling of desperate validation for at least one demand to be met. "Of course not. What were you expecting, Shinra?" Almost sounding amused at Shinra's supposed stupidity as if this is really as simple as the doctor so desperately wants it to be. Everyone else—Shizu-chan included by default—wants to make this easy and simple and forget it exists the moment Izaya eats by himself and goes back to his sadistic personality. He's not supposed to be angry and hurting and maybe feeling like killing himself every day or wondering why the days are too long and bed sounds like the best place to stay for a while. Shizuo's comments in one week of living in the same apartment are only fuel to an endless spiral of what Izaya calls a ticking countdown to what becomes of the frustrating not-emotions. Physiological responses, not stupid and petty things like emotions. He is _not_ depressed.

(Namie makes the first mistake on her own volition. The others began to fall in line before he decided that she should hurry and shut up already.)

Shinra scowls and shakes his head, clearing the harsher lines of his face into a softer frown that registers complaint. "You're saying he's left you to deal with this by yourself? I mean, I expected that sort of behavior, but Izaya, you can't just be expected to deal with it by yourself." Shinra tsks, keeping his tone neutral. "Not especially when if he's not realizing the signs of withdrawal—your hands are shaking, by the way, then he's not doing any good for you. The food is already hard enough on you with the restlessness. And the only thing I can do is offer suggestions." For once Izaya watches Shinra with an eye, closing the other under his right hand resting on a half of his face as if to hide the cracks starting to form Shinra may not see when his brand of ignorance isn't as potent and chemically addictive. And this time he is silent which is already a common occurrence of frustrating try and fail. "Oh, would you mind if I did a quick physical? It's about time for your first one anyway."

Interesting way of dodging whatever he is going to say but then stops, changing the subject going on the thread of the tremors in Izaya's hands. So be it. "Go ahead." Not like he can get in the way if Shinra will dictate how Izaya will live. Crippled means not being able to make choices, like the comparison that Shizu-chan made before when fighting in one of their numerous times. And in the instant that he gives the word Shinra acts upon it, getting up from the couch and rifling through his bag and pulling out items like a rolls of bandages which seem to be a common item in Shinra's possessions. It only reminds him that swallowing the burn of saliva is nothing like alcohol and morphine on the same day his head is bashed repeatedly into a wall and his neck snaps to catch on brick or popping back pills from an old prescription.

"Hold your arm out." Shinra starts, ignoring the dirty look from Izaya and almost surprised when met with compliance, taking the wrist while he stands next to Izaya and pulling the sleeve to his elbow. One thumb pressing against the top of his wrist and his index on the blue vein rising beneath the scarred flesh. Seconds tick by as Shinra watches the clock on his phone and doesn't bother pretending he doesn't see the hundreds of scars raised and mainly white. Although when the fifteen seconds of counting Izaya's pulse come to an end, it bothers him that there are red lines standing like sores crisscrossing over old white ones.

Izaya attempts to tug his hand away, but sometime he has to come to realize that it isn't that easy with Shinra or Shizuo or anyone that has two functional legs and a brain that doesn't contradict survival instincts. "Izaya, what is this?" Shinra starts, calm and cool and collected for being the doctor and the tone is evident in his voice while blankly void. "Because you already know. So spare your time and tell me what exactly caused these." One, two, ten, _eighteen—_ he's starting to wonder if there are more underneath the long sleeve and while anger starts to flare like hopeless guilt Shinra knows it's pointless to be angry. Crossroads in train tracks counting the many ways of why there is something so very wrong with pale scars and the sharp objects that fumble in Izaya's skeletal fingers for the press and relief of flooding the surface. The same way a drug addict achieves a high and it's all so very wrong and distanced like fresh air and underwater in the fact that Izaya is drowning in saltwater oceans apart. Aka, in all of her informed wisdom, has repeatedly told him that getting angry over _anything_ Izaya does will only make it worse. He can't do this to him when he has no idea what Izaya's doing, so—

"Boredom." he answers, completing the look of indifference while he covertly tries to tug his arm away. Shinra lets him when he's calming his own mind and searching through the mental list of responses over the ones that are a doctor's and a cause for concern. Suddenly the alternative to Shizuo housing Izaya is becoming more of a reality than just an offhanded comment. "What else am I supposed to do, being confined to a _chair?_ " Which in reality makes sense following the instances of suicidal tendencies and this really isn't supposed to be something that surprises Shinra and even with his best face of pretending not to care he's sure Izaya can see right through the bullshit. Unsurprising, but Shinra is only human and Izaya is learning that he is too.

Broken fingers gently tug the sleeve back down with his left hand carefully coming back to rest on his lap. It still looks uncomfortable and Izaya has the appearance of a caged dog rabid with boredom and frustration. Shinra doesn't try to identify with the feeling—he's not that cursed or lucky. "How many, then?"

"How would I know?" Eyes narrow ( _of course he knows)_ and Izaya rolls his. "Thirty-six. More are underneath this lovely bandage from Shizu-chan." So— _wait—_ Shizuo already knows? Then why hasn't he said anything? Why would Izaya have a bandage for more if there are others and Shizuo isn't doing his job to prevent this from happening? Izaya already sees the fuse lit and decides it's not worth the explosive reaction. "No, Shizu-chan doesn't know anything. He thinks I only scratched the older ones." In which Shinra is deciding now at point blank that he will be making it very clear that Shizuo is supposed to be checking Izaya for these and maybe preventing these in the first place.

Shinra gives a heavy sigh, taking out alcohol from his back and a cloth to go with. "Roll up your sleeve, Izaya." Moments later the alcohol is stinging on newer cuts and swiping down the flesh of Izaya's forearm, his wrist removed of the bandage by Shizuo and Shinra pressuring himself not to react. This is expected, he tells himself in a cruel twist of irony and Izaya doesn't seem to ever care when it comes to himself. He's never thinking that he has to do this or had to in the past—but this Izaya is not the same with the dangerous glint of bottled emotions. Emotionless as he claims to be, Shinra knows that his _acquaintance_ is only a ticking countdown clock before the anger and frustration become too much.

Rewrapped in fresh bandages supplied by Shinra and an extra pull to his arm while Shinra wraps, Izaya is given his arm back clad in fresh white spanning all the way to his bicep. A pen in hand Izaya almost asks but Shinra writes a number—thirty-six—like a note for Shizu-chan because he's a naughty child in trouble with Izaya. And Izaya can't quite help the amusement that bubbles from his throat while Shinra is utterly serious about it all for the simple cuts spanning down his arm. The pathways are harder to look and take but Shinra knows that the heart of where they intersect is the most important part if it's still there. "I'll be having a discussion with Shizuo on his responsibilities. Izaya, you can't keep doing this." Where is he getting the sharp things to cut himself with anyway? Shinra remembers clearly and bitterly now that he warned Shizuo to keep the knives away from Izaya and out of Izaya's reach. "Take your shirt off. I need to check your breathing and the bruises." Izaya narrows his eyes and Shinra gives him a look of do it or make him do it. Luckily Izaya knows when to quit.

The fabric falls on Izaya's lap, displaying the bandages in various places for certain knife wounds and bruises that stick out darkly in ugly green and yellow. Cold presses on Izaya's chest and suddenly Shinra is too close to him, daring him to complain while he's the one with the doctor's tools and such is completely unfair. "Breathe in." Seconds later the instruction to exhale and like a good patient Izaya amuses Shinra while not quite enjoying the liberation of his shirt off. Or the rise of ribs out of his chest which don't look as bad as before, but the thought of looking at himself is one he would rather pass on.

Shinra straightens, fingers ghosting above the skin with bruising while making hums of approval to himself. "You're fine so far. Not as skeletal as a week ago, so that's better." Which isn't going to mean anything when Izaya's weight is still low and will continue to be as long as the mindset remains and that happens to be frustrating when Shinra just doesn't understand how Aka has reminded him that he can't. So he inwardly regrets the words with the same chiding fashion of an argument with Celty but this time it feels different when this is Izaya and weight is an alien issue of discomfort and secrecy to discuss easily. Izaya, as per usual in the boring set of routine and rotting conscience, glares at him. "Put your shirt on." With some help that is reluctantly accepted the fabric covers the sight of the ribs and bruises and Shinra finds himself at a predicament of wanting to say what a doctor—but a _friend_ is supposed to say. So he keeps his mouth shut with the notion of just going over the basics (give medication, talk, end conversation) and try to balance the line of Izaya being more than just a scheming asshole and being more than a mental health patient.

"Is...is everything going alright?" Shinra clears his throat, checking over the cast on Izaya's left arm and deeming it acceptable and sparing a glance at Izaya's raised brow and eyes glimmering darkly. "From where you were when Celty found you to now, has anything changed?"

Izaya's right arm folds with some difficulty so he can place his elbow on top of the couch and hold his chin in his palm. "What do you want, Shinra? You're wasting my time." he scowls and spits his next words with distaste. "If you want to know about the suicide attempt, then just say it." Spits and snarls under his breath with the rabid bite of a dog not mad but frustrated and left chained outside for too long and only knowing to bite and take until Shinra leaves. A coping tactic and Shinra finds himself holding his breath to let it pass. It doesn't.

Shinra sighs with a nod, sitting next to Izaya on the sofa—he can't avoid this. Not that he wants to, but the conversation is hard when Izaya is less than half as willing as he is to discuss this. Nothing will get better, and he _knows_ this, if Izaya doesn't cooperate. Which is partially his own fault that he knows he has to accept responsibility for. "I want to know if you're having any suicidal thoughts or tendencies right now. Same goes for the eating issues."

"Oh?" Izaya's face is another story of a dark expression at the mention. Anger, betrayal, defiance, all mixing together and squeezing tightly in the same uniform fashion as Shizuo's blackening arteries that Izaya conveniently forgets exists because if there isn't a point in treating Izaya like a human then no one else can be to him. Suffocate himself to feel the burn and drag it out for as long as possible until he's swallowing for air and reconsidering bruising his windpipes and his voice buzzes in his own ears with static of coming back to reality again. Fingers squeeze tightly in his lap and the pain of using his broken left hand fingers must be bearable enough or he's just as frustrated. "You want to keep me alive is all. Fine then, your answer is that I'd rather be dead than here and having this stupid conversation."

Chewing on the inside of his cheek with a nod, Shinra continues. "There's no reason to be angry at me, Izaya." Softer, now, like talking to a cornered animal if it isn't for the clear connection by the flash of teeth in a haunting sneer. "Celty and I want to help you. Shizuo does as well. And frankly, none of us want to let you deal with this on your own. That's why you're here, even though Shizuo could use a push in the right direction." He doesn't wait for Izaya's reaction to keep going. "As your doctor and a friend, I want to help you. I don't want you to suffer from these things. Be it depression or an eating disorder, you don't deserve this." Maybe something makes sense and Izaya only stiffens and those teeth chew on the skin of his bottom lip where there are indents of scabs from repetitive action. Coping methods come from lack of control and calm is not the same look as Izaya wanting to kill Shinra with the lack of anything useful or possibly himself when the danger isn't defined to one person and a stop sign like spilled blood pools.

Izaya looks calm, if not a little tense from reluctance, but Shinra knows better. Because in his eyes are the deadly storm raging on when he's still refusing to give in to the urge to show his rage. And at this point it's more or less helpless or suicidal that Shinra really knows nothing at all about Izaya and the reason that these things are happening to him may just be related to Shinra on the level of generic apathy, which he doesn't pride himself on. It feels dead and empty while chilling in the bone marrow of creating more with each passing second of ignoring the same problem Shizuo has been when they _really_ need to talk about this.

The informant smirks with a twisted grin and eyes like blood on asphalt. Angry and— _empty_ despite the presence of blood when there is no life remaining. Shinra starts to question if he's ever noticed it before. "Why would you care? And Shizu-chan? That's not even funny." Shinra's starting to think that despite his own efforts Izaya is dying when there is no smirk nor smile nor any other expression that comes with having any sort of conscience. Accepting the fate that he doesn't _deserve._

 _Because,_ he wants to argue and hates how Izaya is starting to coil in on himself further and guilt weighs heavily in his throat, _Shizuo cares more than you think he does or that he knows of._

Instead, he settles more for something not as dramatic and certainly more believable. "Because we're your friends."

Izaya's lips pull into a frown when the humor fades from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eleven. Edited for better writing.
> 
> Also, this chapter is portraying the difficulty of treating depression and or eating disorders. No, it's not easy. It can be very difficult with someone like Izaya who wants nothing to do with anyone else to treat them. Shinra is trying to behave accordingly and do the right thing. Shizuo, on the other hand, is taking the generalized bad approach by severely restricting things and letting Izaya's boredom and those self-hating thoughts fester by using hatred to deal with him. Anger, sorrow, pity, or other negative emotions are not wanted in treating depression or eating disorders. There is the key to remember that people with mental disorders are not idiots. They're people that you may know, care about, etc. Throwing them into confines of a room or a hospital and demanding them to gain weight will only make it worse or placing them in suicide watch to feel humiliated. They are regular people just like everyone else. And while your heart may be in the right place, getting angry or ignoring their wants and needs isn't what you want to be doing here. You're there for them to listen, not talk.
> 
> Notice a spelling mistake, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	12. Lie in Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New beginnings often lie in wait.

_~_

 

_...Because they will become your god and tear you apart.  
_

  
The silence lasts like the heavy lump swallowed with saliva and the stain of pulled muscle and split lips and for the life of them none speak when there isn't anything on their minds to clear the spill of blood. Red water in a pond and drowning out everything else when a wounded fish is brought to light and Shinra starts to wonder if it's too late to fix everything. Izaya's silent as ever now, tension curling thick and ready to cut and split and pull apart the brain matter of fixing everything to rip open the stitches, hollowed cheeks barely starting to curve in and the quietness is deafening in hearing suicide. If Izaya deals with this constantly it makes sense to Shinra, agonizing every wound prodded open and raw ignored left to rot in the sunlight pure anger coursing through his veins before he cuts them open, scars down his forearm with a pretty thirty-six in red pen. Shizuo gets to find out the hard way and Izaya's been through Hell and back and this time around he's not so much a rookie as Shizuo is blatantly ignorant. Up until this point.

"Here, these are your anxiety medications." Shinra pulls bottles of pills from his bag, two in total and orange with white circles and probably just as bitter as the empty glare thrown his way. He knows in the worst way that this isn't going well for Izaya and they _really_ need to talk. "You'll be put on trial for them, I want you to note any side effects that you have. If they're making your mood worse, stop taking them immediately. Okay?" Shinra places them on Izaya's lap while the informant is too quiet and his eyes are taking on a gleam of not being entirely here, which makes Shinra's anxiety rise and creep to the top of the questions itching in his thoughts for _why is this happening_. "You okay?" Shinra asks after a pause, tapping Izaya's bony shoulder and hating the abrupt curve of bone that jabs him.

"Fine," Izaya snaps, "and who gave you the opportunity to prescribe anxiety medication to me? Celty?" he jabs while he can and Shinra resists the urge to feel the rush of defensive blood pooling in his veins. He knows this routine and he knows that Izaya is a monster on the outside and if turned inside-out he may as well freeze over and shrink away once again, back to high school years and before of knowing nothing but defensive mechanisms. Going through the motions, until Shizuo comes along in a twisted result of experimentation Shinra finds to be most conclusive. That is, until the sparks start and the sounds of collision reach everyone else's ears and maybe he thinks that the introduction is one of the worst experiments he's ever conducted but—Shizuo doesn't say so. Roughly he says not much worthwhile besides growling and hissing that the flea is dangerous and reeks of disgusting things.

But the interesting parts are—"I did. You've been medically evaluated, and I as your doctor believe it would be best if you had something for the anxiety. Being here it's probably triggered a lot more, right?" That and the whole point is that the anxiety is everywhere with this being Shizuo's apartment and whether or not they hate each other is in questionable territory when having to surface to stay alive. In the den of monsters Shinra knows not to misstep intentionally but there are times like now where force is necessary, concerning the sanity of Izaya or whatever remains that's tightly locked and Shinra doesn't know the answer of where to begin.

The informant, as tiny he is in Shizuo's clothing, shifts uncomfortably. "You decided yourself. Figure it out if you know me so well." he snaps back, rolling his eyes but there is a certain stiffness to his frame and for being small and nearly skeletal Shinra notices that the tremor in Izaya's shoulders is not an accident. Yet he keeps talking, unfinished with drawing himself out to stuff it all back down and inside so that no one knows—Shinra is familiar with the routine. "Since you and Shizu-chan claim to know me so well, go ahead and decide what's best. _Ignore_ me and pretend you know better, because I must be an idiot for getting myself into this. So I deserve it, don't you think?" Izaya's voice is rising in the spiteful anger, warning sirens going off in Shinra's head when he's sure that this may be another anxiety attack, frustrated because the perceptions Izaya has on him and others aren't entirely baseless. They still hurt, in the worst ways, when he does realize that he's excluded Izaya from ever being more than an accessory to call a friend. It feels like lying to Celty, though not quite as painful as the rip and tear of his own heart that Celty holds.

Also nerve-wracking without the reassurance that everything Izaya has maintained will be held together. Not falling apart crooked or twisted sideways like the sneer Izaya keeps when his mind is in shambles constantly ignored, stepped on and information might leak from a dying informant when splattering his own blood everywhere to proclaim his existence. Izaya's always had a particular brand of suicide that Shinra hasn't cared about before and it's not the slightest harrowing when he doesn't need Izaya to be telling Celty things she shouldn't know about. Especially with the location of her head, selfish in Shinra wanting to keep things under wraps and tightly controlled so that there isn't competition for her attention and anything else in the fight they've already had.

"I'm not ignoring you now, am I?" Shinra reasons, snapping Izaya's arm toward himself with the outburst and fingers encircle a pale wrist of Izaya's right hand, digging into his leg. "So tell me what's going on, and what I can do." Which is even more difficult because it's assuming that Izaya would know himself what he's supposed to do and actually accept the help, which he doesn't want to. He'd rather be dead and Shinra knows this easily enough by the count of scars on Izaya's wrist, following the old ones and finds them entirely unsettling. The entire equation for many simple things, some he probably doesn't know and or care for as much as Izaya obsesses over them.

Red eyes and the whites are turning red with what Shinra suspects—but doesn't ask. "Why bother if you're going to use it against me? You know I don't give information for free, Shinra." Izaya smirks in his own manner of rising above whatever he can, squirming away easily and Shinra doesn't understand the purpose of the game other than to hide. Izaya can do this without a hitch and like breathing, seeing as he's done this most of the time before instead of pretending to be interested when no one else shares the same concern for him actually existing. Most simply wish for his death (Shinra can tell this obviously) and Izaya (sees _everything wrong_ ) denies anyone possibly hating him.

"I'm trying to help you. So is Shizuo." Shinra refutes, releasing Izaya's wrist with the first sign of struggle and disliking the wild look in Izaya's eyes when the skin of Shinra's hand brushes against his. "But violent mood swings, from angry to upset, don't make someone like Shizuo understand. So tell me what you know about yourself if you think it will help. Otherwise, I can't help you but just do what I think is right." The reference of a threat is veiled in his words Izaya easily picks up on and scowls, continuing with the clench and release of his fingers as self-prescribed method of calming down. Clearly it's not working too well. Shinra keeps his hands to himself, finished with the physical and eyes dart to the pill bottles given to Izaya. The informant makes a clear point of not attempting to let his hands near them, as if cursed with stale orange coloring on the outside and acrid bitter taste on the inside.

"What does Shizu-chan care, then?" Izaya tastes poison on his tongue with the words, possibly venom instead and refuses to back down from the defensive stance of raising himself high enough as to ward off Shinra. It doesn't work, because Shinra has chosen to not be human when Izaya is feral and untamed, vicious and ruthless by any chance of never being allowed to be human. Proper meanings of being some sort of self-proclaimed god of chaos without much proof but self-destruction and tearing down designs meant to heal, angry and bitter and never open enough which is a catalyst for why Shinra decides two monsters should meet back in high school days. "I hate Shizu-chan, and the devolved beast hates me almost as much. He could never return such animosity without shedding that human skin of his."

Shinra taps the pill bottle closest to him on Izaya's lap, reminding them both of what they mean. "Whether or not you want to come to face it, he cares about you. If you don't want to believe I do, then I probably don't deserve it anyway. If it takes you years to realize it, I only hope that you don't have to commit to killing yourself for the answer." Shinra packs his bag, finishing up and hoping that the red numbers make a clear statement—which he will emphasize personally to Shizuo—of what he expects.

Izaya snorts, turning his head away and Shinra decides it's more of a time now than ever to ask, at least with Izaya unable to wriggle away. "Take one of those now, and call me tonight or tomorrow morning. Don't take another until tomorrow morning." He stalls, getting up to get Izaya a glass of water from the sink while Izaya has the time to stare at the bottles of pills, critically eying the tiny pills and disgusted by the look on his face. As Shinra returns he holds a bottle between his legs, struggling to pop open the cap with the push of his hand and fingers pulling off the lid. Looking at Shinra expectantly he reaches out a hand to grasp the water glass, fingers straining already when he takes a sip and swallows a pill with the tip of his head back.

Shinra sets himself on the edge of the sofa cushion, taking the water glass after the sour look on Izaya's face makes itself clearly seen, setting it on the ground next to his bag. Shuffling again on the sofa he glances at his phone to check the time and figures he has at least thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to spend or let the bomb go off early, if it's at all possible from watching the twitch in Izaya's fingers when he's too stressed to be thinking straight. "Izaya, what happened that night?" he starts, preparing for the taunting question of Izaya firing it right back at him in one way or another when the informant has never brought it up. Not once around him, and he doubts Celty knows anything because she'd tell him if it's related to Izaya's condition, or anything in general.

Death glares are not enough, so it seems. "Which one? The overdose, or, _oh,_ did you mean why I'm like this?" Izaya motions to his left arm disdainfully, catching Shinra's eyes and his are anywhere but here, glazing over like frosted glass and his gaze distant, further than reach and kept away for a reason. "You want to know what happened? Not like it's going to ruin your sleep at night. All I happened to manage was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Certainly not a crime, ne?" He stretches like a cat, languid and careful of the healing bruises nearly faded entirely.

Cat eyes on his, Shinra knows Izaya won't say much of anything when he talks enough. And while Izaya's not nearly as harmless as a cat he assumes that the frustrated look in them is starting to dull with the anxiety medication kicking in, waiting for Izaya to continue speaking without taking the bait. Though if he has to ask, he could consider figuring it out for himself.

"What happened, then?" Shinra asks, and he has the sense of a strong dislike for the grin that stretches Izaya's lips into a bared smile.

_~_

[So you're saying that things aren't going well, then.] Celty holds up the PDA to Shizuo, retracting when he nods and typing further. [Why do you think that is? Besides him being Izaya and all that.] She probably knows the answer and maybe it's better if she doesn't ask but by the way Shizuo looks tired and frustrated with restraining himself, it's a necessity to not have the city come tumbling down. Shizuo cradles a cigarette between his lips, taking drags relentlessly while rivaling the smoke production from Celty's missing helmet placed on her lap.

It's a good thing they're alone this late at night or there would be some interesting attention directed to the headless woman and Shizuo, who always wears the same bartender's clothes. "You don't know what it's like, dealing with the mood swings and his already shitty behavior." Another exhale, almost a growl in the animosity of speaking toward Izaya and Celty realizes this must be deeper than she knows. "Angry or refusing to talk. The little shit plans it out, doesn't he? I keep having to feed him and all he does is throw tantrums." Shizuo's teeth are in danger of biting through the cigarette with the snap of his jaw pressing tightly.

[Yes, but you know that he's been through a lot. That's why he's with you.] Celty types and quickly pulls back in fear of Shizuo not understanding what she means. [The mood swings are because of too much he's dealing with. A lot of food for him may not look like much, but it's causing refeeding syndrome and that's a big reason he's acting so angrily. When he can't stomach all that you give him it makes him constantly ill. Wouldn't you be angry if you had to deal with constant pain?] Shizuo scowls and looks away, no comment coming in a breath or two of smoke while Celty decides that perhaps further explanation is required as long as she has his attention. [Look, his behavior doesn't have an excuse. But it has a reason, and that's being completely disabled, living with someone else and having to rely on someone after being so independent, and being forced to be treated for neglecting himself.]

"Not like I can help it." Shizuo dismisses, cigarette burning low by now and his fingers relaxing in their tightened grip of the stone park bench next to the gardens. Celty shakes her head, thinking of what to type to try and let him see what he's ignoring, but even that itself is difficult for her to understand.

[You can. You two can compromise, especially if you've been living with him for a week now. But you can't just do what you want. Both of you have to take care of your own needs. And for you that means doing more than you would for him because he can't. If you just ignore him, the behaviors will only get worse and he'll never recover.] Celty sighs, feeling overwhelmed with the frustration of what to view Izaya as besides a sinister force, now knowing him disabled and put in a wheelchair, noticing the look of humiliation in his features when he doesn't say. He never does, but mainly of his own self-preservation does he rarely decide to show what he's feeling. If he does, she wonders, it may just convince Shizuo that Izaya is not the same person as they want him to be.

"He's a shitty flea." Shizuo says it for the importance of not feeling like he's ignoring her. Not an accusation or a justification, but a comment as for Celty to keep going because this is one of the strangest conversations he's ever had and as annoying as it is Celty at least understands it's necessary. Although for changing himself the topic seems more out of reach in context when he's understanding himself to be a monster, not pretend to be human.

[Shizuo, you can't treat him like your enemy anymore. It doesn't mean you have to be friends with him. Just get along, because Izaya needs you to. The chance that he'll never recover is something that's very real and as much as you hate him you can't just be ignorant and leave him to deal with himself. So you've messed up for a week. The least you have is two months.] Celty taps the screen to interrupt herself, making Shizuo watch as she pulls up a calendar and circles the month of May. [In two months his leg and arm will heal. Where will you two be?] At this Shizuo is staring at the numbers seemingly unamused and uninterested, waiting for Celty to return to talking once again and she figures that he must be processing the information which is undoubtedly difficult, namely for having to change how he treats his enemy.

But—she wonders what he's doing this for. [You're doing this for pay, aren't you? Then treat it like a job. I know you can do it and even if you think you can't, then just do as you're paid. You have extra money, and you have some for him. Instead of taking your frustrations out on him, excuse yourself for a little while to cool off or find something else to do. Just...try to forget your hatred of him now. This is not the same Izaya that we know, and I don't know if we'll ever see him again.] His eyes narrow in disgust at the suggestion, fingers back to creating hairline cracks in the cement blocks next to him and Celty pulls back her phone, the next question a catalyst for destroying or mending whatever this is that's going on between the two of them. Hopefully she doesn't end the world from speaking too freely—with Shizuo, it's a possibility (for the truth) to end anything and everything. Even their friendship in the most severe case of denial and anger.

She'd rather not think about that. "You're asking the impossible. The flea hates me, I hate his guts. Getting _along_ won't do shit." Still heavy in denial, then. Makes sense when all Shizuo knows is that Izaya is possibly more than jealous of him because when Celty realizes it Izaya doesn't have any friends at all. Not that he's ever said anything of being lonely but there are actions that make her reconsider this, especially after an uneventful hotpot gathering where Izaya isn't invited and for a few moments she dismisses the odd feeling in her stomach. The next job she receives from him then he doesn't look at her at all and she ignores the observation, memory coming to mind now because she's starting to put things together and connect the dots.

[Wait a minute.] Shizuo has already been meaning to stand and walk some more, intent on dealing with this by himself but that's the _problem_ and why hasn't she been thinking about this before when musing on her theories of what possibly could be going on? [You're not doing this for pay. That's just part of it.] Celty accuses and Shizuo reads the message with apprehension, lips curling into a frown when he stomps out the cigarette on the ground with more force than necessary. Actions like these she regularly doesn't pay attention to, having been used to them in Shizuo's presence but this time she challenges herself to notice what he does and why he possibly would and—the thoughts are raging in her head. Too many at once to type out and in fear of making Shizuo angry she keeps to summarizing them, compiling what's most important because she has to get to it first or it may as well be too late.

Before he can deny it Celty taps quickly, hoping to convey herself accurately. [You...you're doing this for him. All of this is for him, right?] It could be too early to say, maybe she's not saying the right thing or maybe she's wrong because he's not saying anything but he looks disgusted with what she writes, hoping to change what she can before it's too late to apologize. She's been reading the wrong signs and it's embarrassing, accidentally humiliating Shizuo now and when she doesn't realize (there is more to him than she thinks) Celty finally sees the signs she's missing.

Shizuo doesn't break anything at all. No concrete destabilizing and another hundred years of a curse placed upon Ikebukuro by an angry monster with a brand of loneliness Celty knows all too well. Expression is nearly impossible for her and at least Shinra understands her and makes the attempt—it makes _sense_ when she sees that Shizuo is another type of monster but still the same in struggles but there isn't anyone to try to care all that much, dismissing him with a wave or not even a look and if he's lucky in the worst ways anyone will run screaming from a display of strength. Now—who else—would this apply to him if he isn't (a monster isolated by himself) Shizuo, but a monster of a different kind. Yet by this time of coming to the question or observation the universe is still intact and Celty may or may not have been preparing for the sky to fall if Shizuo can reach it. No crumbling buildings or empty cities.

Though his face is in his hands.

_~_

"And I want no reports of Izaya getting any worse by your doing, alright?" Shinra reprimands, having been doing the same thing for the past five minutes before Shizuo starts to look anything but bored. He has been frowning the entire walk back and even Celty offered him a hug in the park (to her surprise, he accepted) and right now with Shinra probably isn't the best thing to do with the scathing remarks of anger. Looking at Izaya, however, he looks—tired, frustrated, defeated—too tired to say much of anything. The skinny frame still exists but the tension isn't running high in the apartment anymore and she wonders if she's committed to something far worse or something unheard of from her talk with Shizuo.

Shinra sighs, glancing back at Izaya who is still conscious and sitting on the sofa, not bothering to look back at the three in the doorway. "Don't ignore him, Shizuo. He can't deal with this by himself, and that's why he's here. Now you and I both know what you're doing, don't you?" Shinra's voice lowers to the point Celty isn't quite able to hear the conversation between the two of them but she thinks it's something not so good when Shizuo's fists clench and he replies in a growl. "You have this chance," Shinra keeps the conversation between them and daring to stare into the eyes of a beast. "So don't mess this up. Either you treat him like a human being, or the deal's off."

Shizuo growls lowly in a huff, leaving Shinra to interpret the action as a grudging response and he brightens quickly, just as Celty is about to touch his shoulder and mention that it's getting dark outside. "Alright then, call whenever you're available!" Shinra speaks loud enough for Izaya to hear, stepping past Shizuo to Celty before they head out to leave. Shizuo watches Shinra depart first, calling for Celty to follow when he notices she's standing in the doorway and looking at Shizuo—stop that, he hasn't done anything—but it's not in pity this time.

[Just try this time, okay? Don't give up on yourself or him.] Reminded of their earlier conversation Shizuo stiffens even further but he gets the point. Satisfied, Celty leaves with a wave to Shinra who excitedly awaits her return to his side.

Which now means after he closes the door that he has to deal with Izaya, who strangely hasn't said much of anything—although Shizuo's becoming used to the silence. "Flea?" he calls out, turning back to the sofa where the black hair contrasts against the light color of the couch, no motion to acknowledge Shizuo's existence. But of course Izaya doesn't care for behaving properly. Having to take it upon himself to be nice is most of the reason for all of this and as much as he hates this, there are certain concepts that Celty and Shinra can use against him which make interactions even more difficult.

Knowing of the flea's anxiety medications from the stern talking to from Shinra (laughable, really, when he tries to size himself up to Shizuo and uses dirty tactics) Shizuo approaches the couch after having kicked his shoes off, thoughts of changing before bed in his mind and not entirely focused on Izaya when he comes up over the side. Spotting the orange pill bottles on the floor Shizuo makes an accurate guess just as soon as he comes up, finding Izaya lying against the back of the couch and eyes closed with his legs stretched out in front of him. Even if the sudden sight of Izaya sleeping in front of him deters him for a moment, he forces down the automatic surge of adrenaline wired to act up in any sighting of Izaya and tries to behave. Just this once. See what happens (and if it's possible—monsters don't get to be like that).

However, that doesn't mean the flea isn't a monster as well. Celty already knows this and picks up on things too quickly before he can deny them.

"Flea?" Shizuo's quieter now, catching the curve of eyelids against Izaya's revealed cheek and the rise and fall of his chest, already asleep somehow in the hour of being gone. The right sleeve of Izaya's shirt is pulled up, revealing gleaming white bandages and a heavy number marked in red, one Shinra mentions earlier and expects Shizuo to understand that he doesn't want to see any new marks for the next visit which comes as a surprise to Shizuo, not aware and almost kicking himself for not realizing _thirty-six_ new cuts. Another example, meaning of being horrible and this isn't supposed to be easy but Shizuo finds himself unable to do much of anything besides be a monster and be alone like it's supposed to be much better living and doing by himself. The wrench thrown in his plans is the same bug sleeping on his couch, curled in to rest against the raised back in an odd position which looks uncomfortable.

"What, Shizu-chan...?" Izaya's voice comes in a murmur seconds later, barely audible enough but still for a monster to catch. The sleep in his voice is heavy and droning, acting as if Shizuo has woken him in the early morning instead of early evening. His eyes don't open, still shut and he squirms against the sofa, too tired obviously with how little he actually moves and it's characteristic that Izaya wakes up at any noise. Shizuo has to use the couch to sleep on and the flea's in the way though the backache from doing the same as he has been for a week isn't as appealing when Izaya's not as fussy and there isn't much for arguing. For once, it's almost silent in a good way than just anger and Izaya making things worse.

He doesn't expect it to last. "Time for bed." Before Izaya can protest that he clearly can't walk or move all that well without pain jolting throughout his entire body Shizuo is kneeling close to him, one arm behind his shoulder and another tucking under his knees, careful of keeping the left leg completely straight when Izaya comes free with standing back up. Bewildered, Izaya's eyes snap open and he makes to move out of Shizuo's grasp in danger of being killed by his enemy but the hands on him are tight enough to know there isn't a chance of escape. Arms around him like a cage there isn't much room for being anxious now about what the monster plans, Shinra slipping him a sleeping pill or two in one of his medication bottles for the "nights that don't seem to end" as a reference of being too cold in a monster's bed and completely out of place.

Izaya hisses when a jolt of fire shoots up his leg, Shizuo accidentally tripping and staggering over an uneven piece of carpet and he hears a murmured apology, eyes widening to see the familiar black and white of Shizuo's chest, head resting against the beast's shoulder. It's not so odd that he's disgusted (already having been for days now, living with a protozoan) but rather that he can hear a heart beat and almost convince himself if he listens enough that it's human because monsters don't have quick pulses of breath. Almost sounding unusual for the beast of Ikebukuro to have a rapid heartbeat but he doesn't expect—doesn't care right now. It's probably just his imagination, like Shizuo would actually carry him without threatening at least once to break him in half if he dares to try anything. This time around it's the door to Shizuo's room opening, the bed that still reeks of a blond beast in sight.

"Hold still," Shizuo speaks again, still gruff but not as demanding as before—Izaya dryly wonders if Celty must have threatened him. Or Shinra, for that matter. Though his words actually mean something for once, the sheets pulled back and finding himself suspended above the bed, lowered down onto the mattress on the far left. Which makes not much sense even in his sleep-addled mind, opening his mouth to protest before he feels the slight impact of his entire body weight of not that much deposited _carefully_ on the bed and he may as well be hallucinating at this point if it's going to make any reason at all for what's going on with Shizu-chan. Again, he blames the sleeping drugs and decides that his brain is too exhausted to care after many nights of never really falling asleep.

It could be him when he feels the bed shift and the weight tugs at his cast, gritting his teeth in expecting pain from being around Shizuo as a preconditioned response until the bed evens out again with a series of creaks. It doesn't feel right—the added weight of the bed and as tired as he is he doesn't open his eyes when he feels the added weight of an entire human being (monster in other words as only monster dwell in a den) and against his own conscience he moves closer to the heat source, hating the feeling of being cold in a bed he can barely pull the sheets over himself in. Despite the unlikely move of himself and never really examining what he's doing before it's too late, he hits a wall of flesh and his brain is slowing time down, failing to grasp the proper response of whatever this is and it's supposed to be realizing that he's lying with a monster—presumably to catch fleas. (Ha, ha, Shizu-chan, very funny,)

Blankets pull up and fall against his collarbone, losing the ability to process thoughts but still irritatingly awake despite the close of his eyes. "Shinra must've drugged you, yeah?" Shizuo's voice makes Izaya freeze and the thought processes are moving, clicking together forming words frustration clinging screaming _danger danger_ in which Shizuo will only treat him like a doll if he speaks, throw him against a wall and snap him into pieces. Like he already hasn't before but this time has to be physical to even out the damage of never grasping onto something and managing to keep his grip for whatever can pull him out of drowning himself. "That's the only reason you don't have a knife digging into my throat right now." Shizuo hums, breaths slow and controlled but Izaya's too close too reckless to be near him, lying on his back and prone to any attack.

"Calm down, I'm not doing anything if you don't bite." Shizuo's voice comes in that same dull murmur that is too calm and too quiet to not have a hidden threat of potential force pinning Izaya down, fingers around his throat and suffocating as per usual in these games of playing puppet. "But since the couch isn't comfortable, you'll have to deal with this until I figure something out." Figure out everything and not wanting to know the answers aren't always the same, Shizu-chan. Hasn't he already done enough with too much and not dumping Izaya onto a bed but then sharing it—too many thoughts. Too much thinking. Fingers on his right arm, tapping and _not_ breaking crushing ripping apart bone and flesh and scars and—"Where's your sling? Don't you have one for your left arm?"—loneliness as a destructive force with the strength of Shizuo hurling buildings if he tries. Semi-trucks or roads ripping apart in the chaos of a world meant to be perfected and observed watched from above like a god over his ungrateful people and they'll still hate him.

No one, though, can hate him as much as he does. A sad truth, a silly lie to tell when no one would actually _believe_ anything he says be it truths or lies and he doesn't much care for the details of anything pertaining to himself. Uninteresting. Boring. "It's..." racking his brain for solutions and thinking too much as he usually does, fingers retracting from his right arm with the number thirty-six before he can finally start to breath again and not stutter in dragging breaths of grasping onto the reality in front of him. Eyes close against their own will, Shizu-chan is right next to him and the thoughts are terrifying and comforting in knowing that if Shizuo bores of him he can easily kill him and it won't hurt as much as waking up to him tomorrow. Never possible.

"Nah, forget about it." Shizuo turns on his side, breathing a sigh familiar with exasperation and uncertainty of where to proceed. If only he knew the full extent of how miserable the feeling is, then maybe he could be ( _not_ a monster) a human—that's ridiculous even for Izaya to think of. "Go to sleep, flea."

Sleep. Right. The heaviness of an arm close by to him and at least not around him, greedily taking in warmth with wrapping sheets around himself and hearing what almost sounds like a breath of a laugh but he isn't that delusional.

Just sleep. That's all, nothing to it and no nightmares or reasons for staying awake with drugs in his brain, addling his mind and with Shizu-chan involved nothing ever has any logical meaning behind it. Shizuo himself is a logical fallacy, daring to think he has a brain equipped for logic and laughable at the fact.

For some reason, one of his last thoughts is the T-shirt pressing into his mouth and the unsightly appearance he must have had while salivating excessively, remembering the ache of trying not to vomit and the same brute's arm around him, holding him up and dangerously pressing into his stomach. Too close to the actual sensation of the beast touching him without the purpose of killing him. It's all they do, right? No point on dwelling on meaningless things like the morning of Shizuo not trying to murder him for once.

Like right now, except the beast's breaths are evened out unlike his own which are becoming shallow with the attempts to drag in more air and torn between being too anxious although there isn't much capacity for the meaningless emotion. Whether or not he lives or dies depends on if Shizuo decides it—as much as he hates the thought.

Just...sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Majora Day this February 14th! Now, what happens then I cannot say. Buuut you can find out. ;) Check out the fanart by my Mama Shizuwan for chapter nine! Isn't it gorgeous?
> 
> [Chapter Nine~ ](http://pendulumdeath.deviantart.com/art/Edge-513472385)
> 
> And congratulations, you've all been trolled by your god. Of course I'm not leaving writing, but I do warn that next time won't be a joke. Thank you Mama Shizuwan for the helping my idea of pranking all my readers, so maybe forgive me? Hahaha~
> 
> Look at these two, finally getting along. <3 Thanks for reading.


	13. Unlucky Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times where Shizuo and Izaya think they're losing their minds, being in the presence of the other.

_~_

 

 

_...It's the end, the end of this._

  
At first, the red numbers don't click like they're supposed to, staining white bandages on Izaya's right arm and Shizuo already knows they're new. Shinra replaced them himself, so with this in mind and parts of the lecture he's received (really, as if he doesn't know anything at all) it's early morning and with the flea still asleep, he remembers the sling Izaya's misplaced. Searching around his room, he finds it in the crevice between the bed frame and the wall, brandishing it with placing it on the bedside table, next to the slew of medications for Izaya to take when he wakes. Tired enough himself Shizuo grabs a shower, wanting to start this day off with something right and to hold onto for falling back when he has to force himself to be civil this time. Shinra and Celty are disappointed with him but that's the main cause for concern and as much as he doesn't want to think about it the possibilities—Shinra is a _liar—_ of what may happen.

The entire act feels childish, knowing he's been fighting with Izaya for the entire time because it's Izaya and no, the correct way to view it is as seeing Izaya as the flea, dehumanizing (Shinra has such an articulate vocabulary, how boring) a human beneath the _exterior_ of an insect just for the purpose of his own harmful enjoyment. Sadistic glee, Shinra mentions and the coffee table is viable enough to break it over the nut's head because whoever gave him the right to say these things deserves to feel it just as much. But to stoop so low as to threaten Shizuo with telling, one little secret? It's not even worth the cause and effect of destructive harm that comes mentioning it, even if it gets to the flea— _Izaya_ then everything is ruined.

Damn Shinra.

After showering comes breakfast—omelets, Shinra says, are perfectly _acceptable—_ and without breaking as many things as possible, the entire concept isn't as hard as it seems as long as Celty promises to teach him how to cook for himself. May as well take any extra opportunities he has now, no work for any foreseeable future and all of the time spent with the pest lying in his bed, remembering the shivering and wonders if the entire thing is actually because the flea's cold or if it's something else. At this point he's never really sure and doing things like being civil and somewhat human-ish being toward each other doesn't sound plausible at all. Not with their history behind them and Izaya's lack of willingness to _shut the fuck up_.

So a mess of eggs, milk, and what-the-fuck-ever joining the pan after being scrambled, this isn't so bad just to fry scrambled eggs into somewhat recognizable shapes, mind merging elsewhere focusing on the indent in his bed that's still there. He can't help but think and analyze and compare to everything he knows why Izaya is in his bed or why they slept together the night before and it feels like a splitting headache trying to come up with a reason. It's disgusting, disturbing in denying his own nature to kill the flea but remembering, constantly reminding (Celty said to _please_ give it a chance) him how much he's screwing himself over by taking up this responsibility.

It's all his fault.

Two plates steaming and fresh from the skillet, Shizuo balances them in each hand, coupled with a glass of milk and the funny part is that this is the first—and last—time he's ever made breakfast for someone else in his home. How sad that is—embarrassing, frustrating, all due to being a _monster—_ perhaps it's better to think of other things. Like the flea in his bed, as if that's not a migraine waiting to happen from springing on him and tearing its teeth into the flesh of his brain, bleed out any sense of sanity or logic because the flea is a blood-sucking parasite. Navigating the hallway to his bedroom shouldn't require as many thoughts as feeling like the inside of his skull is going to collapse from the thoughts weighing in.

"Flea," Shizuo starts as he pulls a seat against the bed, refusing to climb back in so willingly next to his own death. "Wake up. Breakfast." Setting both plates and the glass on his nightstand he reaches over the sheets, careful and delicate when he imagines breaking everything he touches he normally does when Izaya is a doll and lifeless. Asleep, Shizuo manages to grasp his fingers on a shoulder—uninjured, the left one where it's not supposed to be bruised—he's wondering why he's trying this hard for someone he's not supposed to care about and the answer is the burning coals shoveled down his throat swallowing hard when this isn't what it's supposed to be. Nothing has been and not with Izaya here and this is not how the past was.

"Oi, wake up," Shizuo tries, trembles in force of shaking Izaya because the bones beneath his fingers, the pulse and rise and fall of flesh and blood and everything he's supposed to work for is only a touch away from death. It's so easy to bury himself alive. "Izaya, come on." He gets a soft moan, groaning in comparison when Izaya tries to shift away from his fingers that dig into his shoulder a little tighter. Shizuo knows not to break not to kill not to touch the flea in front of him, lying in his bed covered in his scent disgustingly so to the point of madness and he wonders if the flea is already there, unfamiliar and vulnerable in a beast's den. It almost gains him sympathy.

Almost. "...Shizu...chan?" Izaya mumbles under his breath, grumpily squeezing his eyes shut to avoid Shizuo's incessant shaking. "Stop...it." At last the little shit's eyes open, hazy and drying pools of Shizuo's own blood mixing in with danger and uprooted stop signs. The brute can't imagine _why_ in a sarcastic manner that he stares death in the face. His mind, most likely to be torn apart and fed upon by this parasitic worm. But for now—for now, he exists. Don't breathe, don't live, don't say _anything._ Just go through the motions, and the denial of sorts will sink in naturally. That's how it's supposed to be.

"Breakfast." Izaya's eyes are heavy when he wakes and surprisingly he's not jumpy when Shizuo first touches him, possibly a side effect of the sleeping drug Shinra gave him. Heaving a sigh tucked between his lungs and the thing that is still his heart, beating in an uncertain rhythm, his second hand comes to wrap around Izaya's waist in careful contact. Pulling Izaya up to the headboard takes his pillow with, sleepy face coming upright and head hanging by the time he's sitting up in bed, still mussed with sleep. He blinks, lazily, as if not realizing the monster in front of him can devour him whole in one bite, teeth sink into the flesh and rip them apart from every little knife-inflicted wound to every breath that he takes. Everything somehow comes back to Shizuo.

While his hands are free he grabs pills, pulling out the amounts for a dose of each while Izaya continues to blink awake. It almost feels too normal—the domestic attempts of murder on each, never wanting to give in to what the other is supposed to need—when the pill caps slide and he gathers them in his palm. They're so tiny and delicate and all the small things that go together to keep the idiot flea alive that he's not considering what the possibility is if he crushes them (which he won't, he's not stupid) and how long it will take for Izaya to fall apart. In front of him, always, and collapsing in the heap of skin and bones he is of just being too stubborn and too restless. For now it's careful, delicate positioning and the force of keeping Izaya upright instead of crushing him from the inside out.

The plate of omelet goes in Izaya's lap, the same size as his (meticulous about these sorts of things he's starting to think that he's losing his mind) until he realizes his mind is already quite gone with having to take care of the ungrateful flea eying the omelet like a snake. Really, it's not that bad. And there happens to be a pair of chopsticks for him to use like a regular Japanese man would have in the attempts of just trying to be normal for some period of time. But he doesn't get to eat his, splitting his and murmuring a word of thanks and then waits for Izaya to get with it. Of course he can't expect the best when Izaya moves lazily, grabbing the wood and twirling it in his fingers, pulling with his right hand and unevenly breaking the chopsticks. Shizuo doesn't laugh because it _is_ funny but the glare already directed at him tells him that it's not something to aspire to. It's starting to make less sense (what is he even expecting at this point with a rivalry gone wrong and too many expectations to see himself as anything but he is) when Izaya's fingers tremble and shake, fine movements in the skill of trying to break his chopsticks, but even he doesn't seem so sure of how he is and trying enough to hide it.

When the truth happens to be that—as much as Izaya pulls, his fingers are weakened and his left arm ripples in a rising shock of pain flaring, trying to apply pressure to the wood and just get on with it. As asleep as he is and not wanting this anyway he wants to glare at Shizuo but doesn't risk it, still not awake enough to count his mistakes in the scars littering his arm—they have to talk about this—and he decides he's not as hungry for soul-spewing nonsense with the same appetite for shoving any sort of food down his throat. All he wants is another hour, maybe a day or a week or just however long it takes to stop feeling this tired and dreaming in the certain brand of nightmare gone wrong that he's within the vicinity of a flesh-eating monster soon to tear him apart. But it doesn't end the way he wants, rooting in the cause of the realization that the chopsticks in his right hand aren't any more broken than Shizuo who hasn't touched his food at all. One time he thinks and questions whether or not the notion is just for him or if Shizuo is simply tiring of his existence. Good thing the beast isn't the only one, resting in sleepy twilight and his eyes burning with the need for sleep.

Shizuo looks up, never having touched his plate once and his chopsticks neatly sitting to the side. For once he thinks of considering manners more for himself as something to cling on to while dealing with the mess of everything else. "Are you..." he starts, cursing himself when Izaya's shoulders tense and his leg twitches underneath the sheet, squirming. "Do you want help?" Carefully tonguing the words they taste only a little bitter with poison and the lack of response. Maybe Izaya simply doesn't care, maybe he's too frustrated and Shizuo finds the similarities in an odd coincidence, watching the doll-like hands of Izaya's—cold, _unfeeling—_ bones shivering with each movement that results in only the lightest of twitches.

Leaning his head back Izaya lets out a shuddering breath, more of a sigh and regarded as something to toss out as soon as he comes back to reality. Blinking heavily he drops the sticks, giving up on any sort of resolve to preserve himself before he crashes and burns. He doesn't want to speak when sticking with the lack of reality is much nicer this early in the morning and the side effects of sleeping pills keeping his mind almost blissfully drunk but still not enough to feel the numbing chill. Shizuo eyes him curiously when his eyes start to close and he tries to move again, feeling pins and needles in his leg but foresight of pain warding off the desire to move. He waits, cautiously set like a trap though too tired to do much if Shizuo decides to move headfirst in killing him or something he expects, not feeling as himself and the sort of agony is unbearable in the mornings he doesn't want to be alive.

"Here," Shizuo's voice brings his eyes snapping back open, blinking several times to clear the blur that's just starting to set in. It's unexpected and unmatched by the previous thoughts of murder from choking to breaking apart every toothpick bone set in his body while Shizuo growls at the inability to pull apart _chopsticks_ for a cooling breakfast of scrambled eggs and empty feelings—that don't _exist._ "Hold your right hand like this," he demonstrates, moving closer so one hand covers Izaya's right hand in a strange existence of not attempted murder and the other moves to the second part of the chopsticks. "And I'll pull it apart." With his fingers tightening in between Izaya's at one end of the stick the other hand pulls, the sound of wood breaking with the growing feeling of pressure slithering up his right arm and it feels weirdly strange, foreign like Antarctica meeting Africa.

The fingers split and surely it's the end. "There." Shizuo says, quietly and calm (and possible of forecasting the slightest bit of frustration Izaya can always catch) when Izaya turns his head to glance at him strangely from the red glare that happens to taint every thought of a beast in his eyes. It's okay, they're used to it and Shizuo knows the feeling of anger by muscle memory but he reminds—it has to be this, it has to be this—and grinds his teeth with the attempt of choking any boiled blood into submission. "And since you have to eat with your right hand, it's going to be weird anyway." Izaya hasn't realized until now that Shizuo knows he's left-handed and he adjusts the chopsticks in his own grip, Shizuo's larger (indestructible breaking harmony and whatever he proclaims he's partial to like a moth in candle wax as if it's all so _easy_ ) hands retracting.

He doesn't speak, leg still itching with the pain of needles pricking every inch of muscle and gnawing on his lower lip while he pulls his fingers into grasping the chopsticks correctly. With the first attempt of breaking the omelet into pieces as unsightly as it is and yellow just like the stains starting to appear in the walls or maybe he's seeing things he grabs a piece, holds it to his mouth and disregards any attempt at manners. Shizuo may or may not be watching—it doesn't matter, really, either way. Any barbs soaking into the tip of his tongue to start another argument. Something to keep him going, because it's either that or listen to the beast talk him into insanity. Not as if he isn't slowly depositing himself—his pride will never admit to such things like eating omelets with an enemy like a quaint breakfast date—in deeper and deeper while realizing only some of the extent of what this is doing to him. Like fire burning, and the smoke is only rising up his arms and throughout him when he tries to squirm as if a flame licks at his leg.

The monster notices, like noticing a victim to prey upon because of the helpless factor Izaya happens to have. "What are you doing?" It's an interesting thing to notice that Shizuo still has only touched as much—if not less of his food as Izaya has and the informant only sees it as mocking, disgusted as he turns his head away. Shizuo's hand may be poised to strike at him, crush his throat and force them full of smoking cinders and watch him burn, because a monster would do more than just destroy every part that keeps him together and not falling to the ground, cold and broken like a stupid doll. Izaya squirms with his leg, feeling the tightness when his muscles squeeze and hisses under his breath between clenched teeth with no resolve of telling Shizuo anything.

Izaya glares, namely at the plate of steaming fried eggs and despising every moment of still being sleepy and any insult is weak and pathetic. Doesn't stop him from trying. "None of your business, Shizu-chan." There may be more he wants to add besides slamming a palm into his face at the next convenient moment from the heaviness of sleep in his voice making it as intimidating as the dumb beast's expression. Eyebrows knitting together in anger, the muscle in his jaw twitching when meaning to bite back more burning words or simply ripping Izaya apart. Whatever makes it convenient for the beast, highly improbable to be anything without violence and Shizuo's precious _devotion_ to a peaceful sort of life.

"Oi, what happened to being silent? You were actually tolerable for a solid minute." Shizuo's hand shoots out before Izaya can stop him, grasping his leg and upsetting the balance of the plate on his lap. The anger is always there, in his voice and frustrated with Izaya giving him a retort of as much of a death glare he can manage. "So cut the crap and just tell me so I won't feel like breaking you in half." As soon as it comes out he realizes his own mistake, falling back into the same trap Izaya sets and exhales harshly in his own disappointment, fire burning in Izaya's eyes when he challenges him, fingers clenching into the blanket as if he's mocking the fact Izaya can't move at all. "Unless if it's the fact you keep squirming like a goddamn fish." It reminds Izaya of dead fish eyes and a shudder down his spine.

"Perhaps it's the fact I can't _move,_ Shizu-chan." Obviously, and Shizuo's hand on his leg must notice the _not_ nervous shudder that comes from being too numb to move and too painful to sit still.

Shizuo means to growl something along the lines of _shut the fuck up_ but even knowing in this situation how hopeless he is, he can't stop the animosity seeping into the movement of Izaya's leg. His hand is stronger than he knows, he remembers, and when he pushes too hard it sounds like a click in his head when he realizes as it's too late—Izaya hissing loudly, fingers digging into the blanket with a choked sort of sound—and he immediately pulls away, not guilty and not wanting to do any more harm. It's not intentional this time and that's more of a shock than it is watching Izaya cringe, shoulders hunching when fresh bruises push into his thigh as the tension in his leg releases, cursing silently in each heavier breath he hisses through his nose. Without looking—seeing his own handiwork, a monster playing with a demonic doll and then Celty's going to be angry—he loses his appetite, though he's never had much of one anyway since all of this.

Izaya glares at him pointedly, eyes flickering to the plate on the bedside table where he knows the pills have been counted and measured, just for him. All of it is mocking and he knows it well, refusing to touch the plate as his stomach starts to protest being filled with food too early in the morning. It's one of those days where his body itches to let go of some extra energy, running and leaping off buildings to keep the adrenaline sated. He knows that every time he sees the beast it shoots in his veins and now being left with all the residue he can't help but squirm at the itch. Any more energy—the disgusting plate of food, he's not a fan of breakfast anyway—and he'll surely burst from too much. He needs to move, _now._

"You need to eat some more." A couple bites don't satisfy Shizuo, no matter how much he keeps trying to think about something else other than the implications of what he's done from last night to now. Running in a continuous stretch, one mistake slipping past another and fumbling like his strength when he can't always hold back. "Hell, you should eat mine too at this rate. You'll never gain weight if you don't." Those are clearly the wrong words and even if Shinra's a bit more clumsy at times Shizuo happens to have the ability of fucking things up, going by the stiffening shudder that Izaya uses to push away the plate and his hands are twitching with something to do. Lying in bed for so long isn't this easy and the sedentary sort of lifestyle really isn't working for either.

"I don't prefer to be sedentary, beast." Izaya eyes him coldly, looking him up and down and lips curl in distaste. "Obviously you do, considering you're prediabetic at this point from how many sweets you eat. Surprisingly you can run for so long after me," he sneers, knowing that he's just doing this to kindle the fire and it's working, frustratingly enough because Shizuo digs his hands into his thighs, he knows the visible signs Izaya can pick up on and the tension starts to spark between them. Not a friendly kind, but it never has been in negotiating with a lunatic. What he doesn't know is how itchy Izaya's skin is filling with dirt and disgust from being filled with greasy things sure to leak out, making the itch fire up from bandages on his right arm, exposed while he doesn't think about where he is.

Shizuo forces himself to change the conversation, tearing his leftover omelet into strips and not caring if Izaya's going to comment or sneer at him some more. He remembers Celty's words carefully, knowing that he can't push the line and the last of their conversation sticks in his thoughts the most, just like Shinra's threats. It's not so much pointless as it is trying to figure it out, himself and how much they both know and if he is an open fucking book, then that's just peachy. Maybe his pages would stop falling out or he could reattach his spine and not fucking do this all the damn time whenever Izaya dares to look at him. Anger, anger, more anger and frustration stop _looking—_ and he has to interrupt his broadcasting thoughts because he doesn't want to be Izaya. Not the Izaya that's the snarling informant with plenty of meaningless barbs and insults, nor the one lying in his bed angrily twitching because he's frustrated with being cooped up for too long. Shizuo knows the feeling, but not how to respond.

And that's the joy of working with his enemy. Disabled, mentally unstable (that wasn't really a concern in the first place, bastard has always been this _breakable_ ) and sharp-tongued informant on a forced break. Probably why there are sleeping pills and anxiety medications, Shizuo notices as he takes pills to roll up in small strips of omelet, and the slightest bit of _something_ twinges between his shoulders and settles in his ribs. Breathing techniques, whatever bullshit Shinra has ever mentioned, should come in handy if he can actually focus and not feel frustrated by having to roll up medications in omelet just for some snarky asshole who is hurting more than he can imagine and—wait.

"Here," Shizuo plunks the omelet rolls with his chopsticks onto Izaya's plate, just now noticing the silence that has been suffocating in the room ever since Izaya's last snappy words. The informant has an unreadable expression, one Shizuo associates with some form of disgust besides his usual creepy smiles he doesn't ever mean. Sometimes he wonders why Izaya bothers with all the fake shit, smiling as angry as he is and frustrated with something that he doesn't know about. But he doesn't comment, not now or ever because he catches himself on this new line of more...sympathetic thinking—disgusting. Just moving from day to day until the louse can leave, except his brain tells him—

(he can't, he can't, he can't _run_ like Izaya does away from what he thinks, he can't hide from this)

It's silent for a little longer, the sound of chopsticks trembling like little drum beats on the plate while Izaya plays around with them, expressionless and blank to the point where Shizuo can't read him. It's almost a scary thought, because Shizuo usually can and when Izaya is quiet it's something neither are used to when Izaya is known for talking. Another reason, he cringes, to believe that it's not the same Izaya in his house or the one who sleeps next to him because these are very different people and which he likes better he can't say. Not that he wants to, anyway.

Until, moments later feeling like minutes to hours, Shizuo notices Izaya's right hand struggling to hold onto the chopsticks. In his mind he thinks clearly, considering the possibility of Izaya already tiring out the muscles and that's why his hands shake and he can't seem to get it right. But his mouth isn't directly connected, so there are some speed bumps along the way to make this worse. So maybe it's not worth speaking about, reaching forward to push his fingers between Izaya's, carefully in case if the informant decides to bite him or something (which he really can't) when his hand is on Izaya's and using his other to position the chopsticks. The abandoned milk glass for him doesn't seem as appealing when teaching his enemy how to hold chopsticks and pick up tiny egg rolls, bringing them to his mouth and swallowing them whole. They're small enough, as was Shizuo's intention, to be swallowed easily and Izaya doesn't react to them, especially with as bitter as they are.

When the last one goes down, Shizuo grabs for the glass of milk intended for himself but he holds it to Izaya's lips, robotic in tipping the cup as soon as lips part. Strange, because Izaya swallows it without complaint even though he hates it and Shizuo is well aware that Izaya hates _him_ as well with an annoying level of animosity involving hissing like a wet cat. But watching Izaya's throat bob as he drinks, swallowing in little amounts and Shizuo simply holding the cup, the blond doesn't know what to think as it's a numbing sight of having Izaya's fingers brush over his to hold the cup in place, eyes lowered to narrow slits in which Shizuo is sure that he's watching him from. Makes sense because they are enemies after all, but not everything else.

Izaya pushes it away when he's had enough, catching a stream that trickles down his mouth with his hand. Shizuo sees the red numbers, thought process coming back from earlier. "So, what's the number on your arm then?" He's never been one for knowing etiquette, though it also considers caring about what he says and when.

Red eyes regard him closely, scanning over him as if he's expecting the punchline and Shizuo simply doesn't care for whatever humors the freak, as long as he gets an answer. "I thought you would already know, Shizu-chan." Which he probably does, connecting the dots as Shinra's warnings come back to him and Celty's voice starts to fade, reminding himself not to get provoked into doing something stupid.

Wait—wait. That's it. "Scars," he immediately recoils when he thinks of it because the reality isn't a good thing to picture, blood running down Izaya's arm when he remembers Shinra's threat—inherently clear to him what he's supposed to be monitoring. "The scars on your arm that you..." he says, unsure because of his more monstrous nature demanding to insult Izaya for his stupidity but the other side is much more painful because he doesn't notice these sorts of things and he'll blame himself anyway, no matter how much Izaya can hide from him. It's his responsibility—as stupid and fucked up as this all is, to him, and frustrated because he doesn't understand why anyone would want to willingly tear themselves apart over what seems like nothing.

"You cut yourself," he concludes, Izaya's sneer turning into a frown. "Why?"

There is no reason for asking it but he surprises himself by doing so. Izaya only adds on to this because he doesn't bother with anything more than the insults that come with each breath he takes, frail if there's an end like a time limit Shizuo doesn't know about that Izaya—he knows these things, he knows what happens—but he can't imagine it. "Boredom, Shizu-chan. Why else?" There are plenty of other reasons, painful ones that Izaya won't mention and for a minute Shizuo has to actually think about this and what Izaya means simply due to the fact there are many reasons why Izaya does this and Shizuo knows a lot of them have to do with ( _him)_ Izaya's weird obsessions _._

The conversation drops, namely because Shizuo doesn't want to voice the insults that come to mind without thinking much at all and it's shortly before the self-depreciation sets in that he has half the mind not to say anything at all. He still tries to touch the bandages, knowing Izaya well enough to flinch away while he's always watching, waiting for some sort of trap and it's a glimpse—almost—into the life of never trusting anyone to which he thinks is all a choice. Interesting how things go because as much as the fire burns to want to smash Izaya's face in it's not all there when he still has to catch Izaya's arm, Izaya relentless in letting Shizuo move him when he turns the limb over to study the bandages. On the clean white the red number reflects many things from warnings to the first signs of a fight where all he can see is red and Izaya probably sees it too, doused in everything wanting to get rid of the itch.

"Eat some more omelet," Shizuo releases him, voice quieter than normal and in a functional part of his brain he wonders if he's going mad. "You haven't had much." Izaya scoffs at this like it's not already obvious and unwilling to be ordered around like a broken doll from Shizuo's own hands, his bruised thigh and throat examples of every thing gone wrong. Shizuo may start to wonder at some point in the day or ones that aren't quite there yet if he's losing his mind or starting to realize he's insane already and glimpsing at sanity—upturned, knocked off and shattered into tiny pieces before he sets them on fire and crushes them with his fingers.

"Don't tell me what to do." Izaya quips, shrinking back over a hiss and looking disdainfully at the cooling food. "It's bland and disgusting. Shizu-chan can't even cook." All of this, Shizuo starts to notice while Izaya deals with plenty more like the rising alarm in his brain that tells him he's going to choke if he dares to take another bite and swallow it with as bitter as everything tastes, not the kind worth enjoying. Anything to provoke the monster into crushing him by the throat or whatever organs he can pull, see if he can determine that he's stupidly human under every pretense of being a god, as he is. Something to pass the time and color the walls of the boring stains from long-term smoking and wanting to see himself reflected in what he's earned and only by himself.

Shizuo doesn't always play fair, however. "Why the hell are you always provoking me?" he growls, forcing himself to keep some factor of human in his voice that Izaya finds disgustingly worthless. He'll still manage it to others because Shizuo can be tricky, one thing he knows well and Izaya likes to favor himself as someone who can see the beast as it is. No human qualities and none that he could ever have, being a monster. "It's not cute, flea. You can't even move, so don't even start with me." Because Shizuo can crush him like a bug and he knows that—that's the point. Testing humanity and barriers and sanity and maybe the lonely part of him he hates so much can get frustrated because he'll still be as empty as ever even if his organs slip from his body. All it takes is one angry monster, and nothing is impossible.

Izaya never gets a chance to speak—all it is happens to be pretty lies and petty insults, all he can come up with just for some entertainment not focusing on himself. "You know what? Don't answer that. Just stop." Shizuo shakes his head, hand running through his bleached locks and Izaya knows it won't solve anything, won't bother to scream his frustrations. (No one ever hears, anyway.)

"Finish at least half." Shizuo says, not looking Izaya in the eyes and Izaya can see why it is, always to keep him from harming someone else and the notion is almost touching, if not equally or more mocking. "And then you can bathe. I'll be right back." With the unspoken rule that Izaya should finish it by the time he dumps his plate and the glass of milk in the sink, leaving the room and with a click that echoes for longer than it should if Izaya's the only one to hear it.

Izaya hears Shizuo's phone go off with a text message, never hearing it as more than another attempt at failed distraction. He eyes his arm, reminding himself that...that...

There's no point, he thinks bitterly, in trying.

_~_

Shinra's meal plan decorates Shizuo's phone when he retrieves it, Izaya already changed after a bath and still a killjoy no matter what he does. Out in the living room with Izaya on the couch, carefully being re-bandaged by Shizuo as he counts each and every scar that has any vaguely red look and while nauseating, Izaya's barbs are like white noise when he's satisfied and finishes wrapping the arm. On the text from Shinra is what a week of meals should look like, how much Izaya can eat, what he can, certain foods for him to try, and finally, a note at the bottom Shizuo doesn't have to read out loud. And it takes several times of reading it over, having to convince himself that there's a reason behind this and Shinra may in fact be a demon or an advocate of the devil. Izaya holds the top position, so no competition there.

[ _Make sure you address the low self-esteem today. Try and find things to do that you can both enjoy that don't involve murdering each other. And if it helps, Izaya likes to play chess._ ]

It's like a handwritten note from him, scolding Shizuo like a child because he can't play nice and it's not his fault entirely if Izaya keeps glaring at him, scowling as often as possible no matter what Shizuo does for him. But the meal plan he decides to read aloud, mainly to keep Izaya knowledgeable when Shizuo figures that the flea should know about what he has to do—probably won't keep him from complaining, or the weird thing when he grabs onto his stomach and curls over. All morning he's been looking sick, paler than normal, but any indication of temperature means he's not and it's not like Izaya would willingly say anything if he's hurting.

"You've got a meal plan from Shinra." Shizuo starts in the conversation after putting away the medical supplies, writing a cheeky number on Izaya's arm and tempted to scribble some expletives, but the warning look from Izaya tells him that's a no. "Did you want to hear it now, or whatever?" He leaves the kit on the sofa, pushing away from Izaya and his eyes can't help themselves when they glance at Izaya's stomach, tightly pressed against his arm. Even with the fresh bandage he has no restraint in shoving it into his stomach, like his organs are falling out and have the audacity to suggest that Shizuo's the one causing it, which only makes him angry.

"I don't care." Izaya spits, voice shakily composing a retort and failing by just some conviction, Shizuo's brain torn between wanting to spit another insult—breathe, remember, Celty and Shinra know these things and so it's not easy at all and he hates the bastard—and trying to figure out what's wrong. All difficult choices, frustrating because Izaya never cooperates anyway unless if it's for him in some way or another (wrong again, wrong choices and bad decisions) and right now he doesn't look sociable or like someone who wants to talk when his lungs are on fire and he can't breathe over the nausea. Shizuo doesn't know, doesn't need to and certainly never cares in the first place so it's up to waiting it out, feeling the remnants of breakfast sitting uncomfortably in his stomach as it groans into his arm and spits acid, making breathing more difficult when swallowing either anger mixed with malice in the form of breakfast or having to deal with his own thoughts on every movement he's made today. Last night is a migraine all on its own, filling with swelling and regression of coherent thought but still not edging too badly to anxiety.

Not yet, at least. "Look, I don't like doing this as much as you do." Shizuo suddenly starts back up again and rears his head like the dragon that just won't _die_ already. "So just tell me what you want to do right now, or we can talk about something else. You need something to do." It's entirely uncalled for and Izaya's fist curls, his left fingers barely usable and disgusting as they are, bruised and fading away and he hates how his spine shivers at Shizuo's words, dripping with malice. He hates the response, the twitch of anxiety starting up again and maybe the anxiety pills aren't enough—he hates them too, making him a freak in his own right that needs some sort of medication to behave himself. How sad it is, Shinra never notices the implications of medications and the effect of stigma and careful self-depreciation when taking himself apart. Everything he sees is infection, burning up the space in his body set on fire with hot hot hot anger and no words to describe it all.

In one second, compressed. "Shizu-chan can't do anything for me. Give it up already." He doesn't even sound like himself.

"Bullshit." Shizuo's answer is quick and without thought, perhaps, or the beast is moving against expectations once again. Always does, tricky to pinpoint when he opens the dumb mouth of his. "You're bored as hell, Izaya. Don't give me that." And this is the point where he should keep his mouth shut but he doesn't, he never really understands—"This morning you were actually somewhat tolerable, flea. What the fuck happened in the bathroom? Almost drowned in the toilet?" Okay, too far and Shizuo notices it when he bites his lip in frustration, almost ashamed except for that this is Izaya and the flea shouldn't give a fuck and never has never will never bothers to try and listen for once—Shizuo shakes his head, at himself and his stupid expectations Izaya will never know as glassy-eyed as most nights can be when he thinks of these things in the solitude of breathing too deeply.

Maybe—maybe it's the reason for (everything every hurt every pain every reason Izaya looks at him like he's—) why Izaya glares at him, angrily composing himself and he's much better at hiding it all when Shizuo is there but there is the devil's glint in his eyes when he gives a withering stare toward Shizuo. Wild and untamed, rage just circling the drain because Shizuo knows how far the animosity extends beneath the ground. "Your sense of humor is appalling, Shizu-chan. Must've drowned in the _toilet,_ if you knew how to use one like a proper human being. Oh, wait, you're a monster. Never mind." The insult comes hurling back at him and he can see the physical signs of Izaya's anger only manifesting in what is not productive, like ashes to ashes still burning and alive with sticky hot blood in the moments like this where Izaya thinks he's invincible.

This isn't getting them anywhere—before he can spit something else and raise another hand to Izaya his phone chimes, sighing with the implications of an incoming call. He retrieves his phone, pressing the answer button and his attention's still lingering on Izaya, the television in front of them dulled to a lower noise. He thinks he hears a huff, but it doesn't matter if it serves to make him angrier—

(Unbelievably selfish) his mind chides him with a hiss.

Izaya's throat feels like it's closing, choking down the last of smoke in the air and lava boiling over in his stomach to eat him alive, bury him in the words that come from the other side on Shizuo's phone. It's because—because—"Shiki? Who the hell is Shiki?" And it all comes crashing because Izaya remembers too much besides this life inside a bubble and perhaps it's better if he doesn't, confined to a sofa with a monster there and everywhere and his stomach is sick. When his brain aches like this—the thoughts slipping into words that pound and liquify in his skull, heavy and damp with swelling because he can feel his blood boiling into the sticky mess that it is. The food he's eaten with the calories and the count and the facts building up tsunami high and always deeply hidden in every crevice, every amount of fat he sees in the mirror when Shizu-chan of all people has to come and help him dress, every meaningless action stripped from him and he can only breathe fire for so long.

" _I am calling to check up on Izaya,"_ Izaya hears and Shizuo's eyes are freshly on him full of questions with no answer and swelling up, he remembers these things.

And then he's choking on himself, Shizuo doesn't notice and will never need to because his chest is crushing inward where his ribs meet the rest of his body and squeezing tightly, dark spots filling his vision like the shudder in his hands permanently there for the nightmares. He can't think clearly—nothing at all comes to him but anger and the alienation of _shame_ (he doesn't feel it, doesn't feel) the sour bubbling in his stomach coming up to strangle him. Clearly he's seeing things that don't exist like the shadows rising high on the walls and wondering too much about everything else and here he is existing in the nothing that is Shizuo's apartment with no way out, no air to breathe—

(he can't he can't he can't do this now or ever or)

Any time that involves the pain of having to rip himself apart and pretend for far too long that _nothing_ is eating him alive. Bite for each bit and he still wants to have the sensation of his chest vibrating into his throat, feel some sort of recognition for being alive and there's the fact that he can't do anything at all, nothing's going to help absolutely not—

"Iza—what the fu—'s wrong with you?" Shizuo's ignoring him, there's no other way to feel anything except so hollowly dead and conform to the rotting shape of still being there in the light that doesn't exist, blinking in and out when he tries to convince himself that the nausea is not closing around his throat and it burns like lightning strikes still crackling in the air. Izaya can't think at all—he prizes his abilities for mental control and precision and everything in between and when his mind seizes he can't help but want to think the other things besides the fact he can't _see_ and there are shadows creeping up the walls inside his eyes where he'll never breathe when gasping for air in the dark. It's Shizuo's fault, it's his and the responsibility of messing this up when he's worked so hard for everything (there's nothing like trying so hard, watching himself fall) and the best part is that he's sure he's going to die now instead of a time it's actually worth the effort.

He hears himself, gasping for air and finds it ironic, noticing that if he wrenches his head his entire body aches and he's trapped away locked in his head never to escape again and that's just fine. He'll be fine as long as he hears the annoyance in Shizuo's voice and confirms the same things that have been echoing in his ears all day without words no need for a voice he doesn't have.

"—Izaya!" Those anxiety medications aren't working.

He can tell, because he feels Shizuo's hands wrap around his throat.

It's surely the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys~! I'm going to the Kuroneko Con this year August 1st and 2nd! Ah, I'm so excited because it's the first con I've ever gone to and now I'm going to get to go, albeit probably as some awkward person and whatnot. Well, I'll be cosplaying either Shizuo or Izaya, so come find me if you get the chance to go! I may or may not crack some weird sarcastic jokes, but I don't bite unless you want me to. ;)
> 
> Anyway, on with Edge. Another enormous chapter I had to split in two, at the constant nagging of my dearest Mama Shizuwan, who is my lovely beta reader who does all of the magic for me, most of the time. Thank you, Mama~ As for this chapter, all I have to say is poor Izaya. Poor baby, just keeps getting tossed around like a rag doll. Sigh. 
> 
> I don't mean to have late updates like this, but with being sick last week and busy with so many stories, at least I've got this done.
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


	14. Bountiful Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times are changing like the meaning of communication.

_~_

   


 

_...Nothing ends, it just keeps recycling._

  
"Shit!" Shizuo's cellphone clatters to the ground, Shiki—creepy voice, he doesn't like this—interrupted mid-conversation as soon as Izaya starts gasping for air and all hell breaks loose. "Come on—Izaya, what the fuck is wrong with you!?" he shifts over to Izaya without wasting time for unwarranted thought, grabbing the informant and attempting to establish any sort of understanding but those eyes are glossy red and for some reason it reminds him of death. Though Izaya's eyes are bloody pools of mischief, it's not right when he's not looking at Shizuo at all, curling in on himself the best way he can while making sounds that don't come close to being human. The fear in his eyes—the panic, the roaring uncertainty making itself clear where Shizuo doesn't know where to begin for such a thing so complex that's mainly all his fault whether or not he wants it to be, sacrificing himself to be hung like a fish and gutted for the fact he hasn't noticed the signs before.

There are strings of Shiki's voice on the other side of the line Shizuo doesn't pay attention to, the walls melting and the floor spinning when he grabs onto Izaya, reminding and utterly careful not to break him apart or nearly as strong as this morning. The bruises still there are a constant reminder of why he can't try to be human like this, holding onto his enemy who keeps gasping despite how many times Shizuo calls his name. No time to be frantic—no time for anything, nothing at all save for Izaya trembling like being doused in ice water and panting into Shizuo's shoulder. He swallows, Izaya attempting to fold up again and whimpers lacing into his breath like the doll he's going to smash and it's not fair, he doesn't know these things at all. Nothing is experienced in holding onto Izaya, moving him as little as possible (lowering his voice, gently gently gently calling his name) to adjust to the overflowing feeling of trying to hold back too much.

"Izaya," he's like a call in the sound of a roaring tsunami, bubbling up, up, and away when Izaya can see little but darkness, his body moving on its own he wants to run he wants to start screaming. He can't move can't breathe can't do anything to save himself, no part of his logical superiority functioning highly enough except to shut down every bodily process while the screaming resounds in his ears in which he knows it's not him but there are too many sensations at once while drowning in foaming brine. Izaya does the best he can when it comes to these things—kicking and fussing despite how much it hurts and the panicked thoughts are taking over broadcasting across his brain. Splatters of wet blood soaking him whole, his own can't be pure he'll never be saved and there is sin if he considers the religious aspect if sleep is a possibility after all the anxiety attacks from before. He's never used to them, despite their nauseating frequency.

Shizuo shifts and holds to the best he can, Izaya's head against his shoulder and stretched out in front of him where his healthy leg is curled up to his chest and his right arm wraps tightly around himself, still trying to figure out what's going on. "Izaya, come on Izaya, listen to me," the words fill up like bubbles floating to the surface and he knows there is no reason to be afraid but Izaya—what does he know about Izaya? He's not in this for money—surely, no, that can't be it and the real reason would make him angrier than he is now for not knowing what to do.

It's surely not Shizu-chan who claws his throat to shreds, ripping with his fingers and the same malicious glee as a monster would contain and he wants to pull away from the arms pinning him in place, knowing that they aren't suffocating but the touch sets off alarms in his head that he can't shut off. Violent twisting and churning comes from the acid in his stomach feeling nauseous to where if he vomits it won't be enough, the kind of ache that sits in his bones and hollows them out to hang up for display. Every thought and movement and touch forces his lungs to expand to fill with liquid and blood, gurgling over his throat that closes and shivering when he can't breathe, still never managing the best of being too immobilized that the bad decisions stick and permeate like popping veins behind his eyes.

"Shizu—" Izaya chokes on the rising water and blood filling him with salt ready to devour him from the inside out like the shadows scratching inside his head that keep advancing—there's no reason to be afraid, none at all—"Shizu—Shizu—" It's a hopeless attempt that salts his throat and sneers as the objects rise and slam on him, breaking his leg and his arm and every part of being able to move when he'll never see himself again if he thinks in the darkness despite its comforts. Nothing helps the shivering and the fact his spine is so weak for cutting apart to shred ribbons of nerves and muscles so he slumps over, still confined and completely desensitized to the reality of things he's never liked to commit to. Not since they haven't gone his way.

Shizuo questions himself on what to do, maintaining the urge to not panic or slam something into the wall in frustration when he keeps his arms around Izaya, one hand running up and down in a flustered sort of motion where there is no rhythm, just keeping his hand moving up and down over Izaya's arm. Fingers brush against Izaya's skinny shoulder bones at times like this, sharp and painful reminders as Izaya's trembling starts to cease because he's keeping the focus on one point. And he instructs it carefully, never knowing how to make things work if he's burning up in flames going down in his own lack of knowing how to do anything at all but muck up everything.

"Calm down," Shizuo starts in a low murmur that is only meant to be lighthearted but it still stains his ears when his voice doesn't sound convincing to many things. "Izaya, you're okay." Pointless words worth the solid attempt. He's never been good at these things despite having a younger brother but he keeps trying, for one reason overlapping another that makes the back of his throat constrict. Better not to say much of anything. These things come and go and when they're not this bad he thinks he can pretend it doesn't exist like the bubbling sensation of burning pops of explosive material puncture through his chest. Izaya shivers, more disturbed forces rising in his head when he thinks of everything and when he doesn't guard his thoughts they come right back to him and slams hard with the heavy beats of his chest. He has to stay calm, Izaya doesn't know and doesn't need to hear anything except his own breaths.

They lie with the awkward stance of not speaking but still too close to not say something at all, Shizuo repeating some phrases to the point of where it dies out from Izaya starting to come back down from the violent images ripping him apart. Izaya doesn't move much besides the normal shaky breaths, Shizuo's chest pressed to his ear and one hand around him, moving into his hair as soon as he can focus and nod to the questions Shizuo asks. It's redundant, humiliating, and degrading from the simple things he has to do like breathing on counts and wonders where a beast learns these things, feeling his ribs start to ache when he can't pull in deep enough breaths to satisfy his starving lungs. The more he does his stomach clicks with a breathy sound, disgusting and he curls up further into himself as long as Shizuo holds him he won't say a word of admitting anything—it's better if he focuses on sitting, staring, coming back down from the high of panicking once again and it shouldn't be better in the arms of a monster.

Counting. Quiet, heavy breaths coming in and out and in a circular pattern the same tentative draw of Shizuo's finger on the bandage of his right arm, thirty-six counted like thirty-six Chinese stratagems he remembers from one book or another, thirty-six calories in one quarter of omelet, thirty-six possible outcomes for rolling the dice and figuring out how to breathe. Slowly, shaking on legs like he's not going to be able to stand anyway and it's better if he doesn't think too much, frustrated already with the lack of progress that comes from trying to be better than himself. At times he wonders if the counting trace of red numbers means something at all or he's still delusional, knowing he's imagining the shadow-like creatures skittering across the floor but no longer eating him alive underneath his skin.

"You gonna be alright?" Shizuo asks, starting to retract his hands when he realizes what he's doing and Izaya untangles himself from heavy limbs, cursing how weak his mind is when he's not thinking. He can't stand to look at the brown eyes watching him so curiously with that look that means more than Izaya wants it to be and would he kindly just stop with the nonsense of these _things_.

Izaya nods, pushing himself back to the other side of the couch and staying far away from the look in the eyes of a beast he can't seem to stand receiving, knowing of all the reasons and trying to keep himself from experiencing another attack. No matter how much he moves he still cringes when pain spikes, hitching on his breath from one pointed look to the next of something much less cold and uncomfortable from how warm and close it is. "Still alive, Shizu-chan. Looks like you didn't manage to crush me." _Yet,_ he doesn't add but his cheeks are warmer than normal and he supposes another fever, itching at his face while covering it with his knee pulled up to his chest. His thigh still stings with finger-shaped bruises inked into his skin, even if Shizuo can't see over the sweatpants leg.

"Want to find something to do?" Shizuo tries to break the silence as tentative as he can but he doesn't use the same tone as talking Izaya down—it's not the same, he knows, and it's not right if he treats Izaya like an idiot when he knows better—maybe he's not so hopeless. "Uh, Shinra said you liked chess." Phone on the floor and the call already abandoned with several new texts he puts it away, questions dancing on his tongue when he wants to ask but finds it best that he doesn't until later.

Izaya raises a brow, unamused expression keeping himself grounded and finding some normality after the tension starts to sizzle away. His breaths are even and composed, glancing at Shizuo and for once in a while he feels a little more normal, a little better even if his fingers shake time to time. Shinra said it's normal as he heals, the fingers gaining muscle and being strained from increased use now that he's been injured and broken apart—only physically. Even if his stomach is aching badly and he'd rather not throw up if he moves too much, the game of chess interests him while reminding him of an empty apartment. "And Shizu-chan knows how to play a game like that?"

 _Got him,_ Shizuo finds this funny in a darker way but lighthearted in that Izaya's not saying no like he usually does and not whining or bitching about something else. "No fucking clue." He glances back at the television program playing and almost surprised to find it on a kid's show where if he looks from the corner of his eye he notices that Izaya's watching it, not even sneering. Not a comment or a snide remark from the stupid insults the bastard knows, just how to mess with him and he still watches a kid show in complete silence. There are too many surprises in one day, he thinks, and rakes his mind for any knowledge if he has a chess board.

"Best to not play then, especially if Shizu-chan can't do anything at all." Izaya finally says something and it's an insult—of course, what else to expect—and almost refreshing when Shizuo gets too lost in his thoughts where he happens to be looking at Izaya and manages to turn his head away when the informant glances at him, arm loosening around his stomach only by a little. "I wouldn't want to defile the intelligence in the game of chess. All you'd do is insult anyone with half a brain cell." Izaya sneers, brushing a hand through his bangs that brush against his skin, red eyes meeting with brown and always a snarl in greeting when their eyes meet.

Shizuo's next words slip out of his mouth in an attempt of trying to control another outburst of anger and replying to a new text message that pings on his phone. "Teach me then, flea, and I'll make you eat shit." He doesn't mean to growl but he still does, the insult bubbling in his blood even after the episode where Izaya isn't himself and he has to remind himself that the bastard in front of him still hates him, no matter how sickly he looks and the sly look in his eyes looks inviting and like bad decisions.

Izaya pulls a disgusted look, scoffing and his left fingers itch at his right wrist, Shizuo catching him immediately and moves to say something until Izaya cuts him off. "Why should I even bother? You don't even care about the game," he challenges because it's the best he can do and the itch is starting back in his skin when his food continues to digest and stick to his stomach like mush and itchy insect bites sucking him dry. He wants to say something when Shizuo looks angry, something catches in his throat and it tastes weird and awful, bitter in the wrong ways and he—just to watch the crease in expression, his throat burning dry—swallows over it, eyelids drooping with boredom while Shizuo claws at his palms again to hold still.

"So you wanna watch a kid's show? Fine, entertain yourself." Shizuo gets up with a scowl, moving away as soon as he can because Izaya's eyes make him angry, incite anger and other things that are painful and disgusting so he can't mention the things that bother him, force him to turn to anger when he hates violence. Izaya probably says some bullshit but he doesn't hear it in the pounding of his ears, forcing his feet to move away so he can get away from saying too much on a twist-tied tongue and deaf logic.

Until his feet arrive at his supply closet, he feels like an idiot when he glances back into the living room hidden by the walls and forces himself to sigh, increasing the tension crackling under his fingers when he opens the closet door.

To his grudging surprise, he notices a dusty box with the game of chess.

_~_

What's supposed to be a quiet afternoon between them becomes some sort of drawn-out conversation where Shinra thinks there's something clearly wrong when Celty's replies are little to nothing at all. She seems uneasy, too many thoughts from the billowing from where her neck is, puffy clouds of thinking too hard when it's a day of relaxing. No recent work apparently makes her anxious, or that it's something else but even now she's not saying much at all. Having the chance to sit close to his beloved feels like a dream come true, marred by the edges of shadows sinking in that don't belong to his dearest Celty who is supposed to tell him when she's upset.

"Celty," he tests carefully on his tongue and doesn't wait for her to respond, "are you alright? I mean, you've been really quiet lately, and I wanted to know if everything's okay. If it's not there's nothing I wouldn't do to help you, you know?" The words tumble so easily out of his mouth and when it's Celty she's the only woman to make him lose his composure for the moments he glances at her and his heart swells with admiration for how perfect she is. As a monster himself—never really human, never wanting to be much of one—Celty choosing him is an honor he can't stress enough from the giddy feelings she gives whenever she glances at him, settling in his chest with a bubbly, almost dizzy sort of feeling that becomes solid and strong when he counts the moments he gets to spend with her.

Celty cocks her head to the side, asking the question she doesn't type and Shinra nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But you've seemed a little down lately and I wanted to know if there's anything I could do for you." She gives a smile at this that's shy and embarrassed—she never has to be, not in his eyes with his love for only her that he can give as long as he breathes. But obviously his feelings catch up on his face with silly expressions when Celty smacks his arm, rolling her eyes as Shinra sees but it doesn't deter him in the slightest, knowing his lover well enough to catch onto the subtleties.

"You know, I wonder about Izaya." Shinra starts after a moment's rest of silence and deliberation, never thinking much before speaking especially in the presence of his darling. "He's completely different, we both know that, but I wonder how it's affecting him personally. Living with Shizuo was a tough decision but it was what we could do. I have patients to attend to and you have jobs to carry out, there's no way we'd be able to deal with all that." He kicks back, trying to get a little closer and maybe drop an arm around his beloved—denied, again, when she promptly picks up his arm and drops it on his lap, moving away several inches.

_Don't even think about it._

"Fine, fine!" Shinra holds his hands up in surrender, his devious mind planning certain things that involve getting extra close to every inch of Celty, even if she'll leave him a bruise to last for weeks and it'll never be the shape of his heart but it'll come pretty close. "You know, you could let me—" Shinra starts up again, eyebrows ready to offer a suggestive context and readying himself for a hit when his phone rings, interrupting him and feeling Celty's sudden motion when she hears the sound and it startles them both.

"Hold on," he holds up a finger and shoots an apologetic look when Celty asks, going back to the show they're watching while Shinra listens to the voice. "Why hello, Shiki-san. It's good to hear from you again—you've already talked to him?" Celty can't help but be curious for why Shinra's talking to Shiki so much but she understands, meaning to hold her tongue and wait for Shinra to explain, or get an answer anyway.

" _It seemed Orihara wasn't expecting my call. I was speaking to Shizuo-san before I was disconnected."_

Shinra hums to himself, curious because Shizuo is not the type to suddenly hang up for any reason, unless if murdering Izaya—besides that. "That's odd, since Shizuo usually doesn't do that without any reason. Did he send you a text or something and explain?" He removes himself from the sofa where he can sit against the counter in the kitchen so as to not disturb Celty while she watches her favorite show. "I haven't received anything from him—let alone about any incident involving him and Izaya."

Shiki chuckles, lightly and under his breath. _"I heard shouts, to which Shizuo later sent me a text saying that he had an urgent matter to attend to. Interesting that he simply didn't ignore me. My main purpose was to find out how my informant is doing and when he will be able to return to working for me. You know I dislike having to wait for my information to be available."_ Shinra swallows at this, glancing repeatedly back at Celty like it's a normal habit besides the actuality of it being so and Celty probably notices, as intuitive as she is.

"I don't know about now," Shinra words carefully because Shiki can be the person he doesn't want to anger, nor experience the feeling of being on Shiki's bad side despite the patience he has extended throughout the beginning of Izaya coming to his apartment to be treated. Shinra wants to ask why everything is as it is, but figures to wait until later for an explanation. Too many thoughts are bubbling up in his head and he wants to check on Izaya, even though Celty has been telling him to _trust_ Shizuo and says that what he hears may not always be the truth and that there are two sides to everything—and then she leaves, saying she needs to think for a bit. "But as for the length of recovery from the earliest stage of being able to work again, I'd say two months. His broken bones should be healed fully and he'll be able to get back to work."

It shouldn't bother him that his beloved doesn't say anything about her feelings. _"Mentally isn't measurable, now is it? I want him to be able to focus, without risking this happening again."_ Shiki makes himself very clear and for some reason Shinra likens it to a protective persona, unclear of any relation and simply tells himself that Shiki needs business and Shinra's job is to make sure Izaya recovers. Sounds easier than it actually is.

"No, I wouldn't think so." Shinra tsks, raising a hand to wave at Celty who turns back to him before she quickly turns around, embarrassed when he blows her a kiss. "Mentally he's got a lot to go through. Now for doctor-patient confidentiality, the more personal details I can't talk about. Otherwise, for his recovery it's best not to have him work because of the stress that can trigger his symptoms." He thumbs his lab coat with his free hand, feeling the urge to do something with his hands as he waits for Shiki's composed answer on their more business-like agreements, Shinra managing to keep it professional despite Shiki's strange interest in Izaya's welfare, which forms some sticky theories of his own.

" _I figured. Keep me updated on his status, physical and mental. I have business to attend to."_ Without so much of a goodbye the phone clicks with the dial tone buzzing in Shinra's ear before he ends the call, sighing as he reclines against the counter. Thoughts swirl in his head of checking up on Izaya and what Shiki's business includes, some fascination that the Awakusu executive would take an interest beyond business in Izaya's health, but feeling like a double-edged sword about to be swallowed.

[Why did Shiki call?] Celty raises her PDA for Shinra to read, fingers waiting as he composes an answer.

"Wanted to know how Izaya was doing and when he could start work again." Shinra smiles sheepishly, coming back to the couch and trying to get comfortable again but Celty won't sit as close—darn it. "Apparently he tried to contact Shizuo earlier and there was some sort of incident, but Shizuo didn't explain much." Which raises questions, Izaya's going to be fine and he knows this but he still can't help but worry a little bit, even if it's only generalized concern of being a friend to someone he doesn't think he knows anymore. Izaya's fine, Izaya's working on his issues with Shizuo in their predicament of housing and there is no reason why he should be wasting his time thinking over things like this if Izaya's just fine.

[I'm sure it was probably something, you mentioned he had anxiety, didn't you?] Celty and as intelligent as she is, brighter than any sun and more knowledgeable on these things Shinra can only theorize about, he's too lucky to have such a wonderful beloved. [It could've been just another fight, you know how they are. But you have to trust Shizuo to behave himself, he knows how to when he puts himself to it.] She's sure of it because Shizuo is her friend and from the park she can't deny the things that she thinks of, especially of Izaya and his personality combined with Shizuo's dynamics. The worst part is wanting to tell Shinra what she thinks but still not sure on how to say what she means, not wanting to offend anyone and not wanting to be wrong when she thinks it's right—but at the same time, the thought feels implausible and this entire development (Shinra should learn on his own, she couldn't do that to her friend) is making her head spin.

"Yeah," Shinra flashes her a brilliant smile she has to look away from while smoke billows from her throat. "You're probably right, nothing to worry about." Just as he looks like he wants to say something his smile contorts into something soft, something Celty doesn't recognize unless if Shinra's thinking and comes upon something troubling—he opens his mouth to speak and it feels like every nerve in her body is on fire, waiting in anxiety as she anticipates something but there isn't a reason to be this trigger-happy and wired on trying to find a common ground. Maybe it's because of the brew of darker knowledge she's kept from him, never knowing the origin of being the same in knowledge shared or kept away because she makes promises she doesn't want to keep.

But his cellphone rings, Shinra snapping his mouth shut with a click and picking up the call. "It's Aka, give me a moment." He gets up once again and when he leaves Celty hears bits of the conversation, greetings exchanged and for some reason the show she's watching on the television doesn't sound so entertaining anymore. She's been wanting to talk to Shinra about how quiet their conversations are and the fact that they sound more one-sided than usual, empty and meaningless when it looks like he wants to say something but doesn't. Much like herself, except now he's discussing things with the doctor friend of his and while it's fine, she isn't satisfied with how things are going.

Maybe a ride will clear her head of these things, heavy and annoying to carry when she can't talk clearly to someone she's involved with—what an awkward term—for these types of things before she starts considering if she's the one in the wrong here. And walking by Shinra he gives her a questioning look she shrugs lightly to, pulling on her helmet and without so much a word but a text composing itself in her mind she leaves, unaware of the chain reaction of thoughts it brings.

" _...If I knew any better, I wouldn't say that you don't want me to meet Izaya."_ Aka's voice interrupts him when he thinks of going out there, hearing Shooter give a neigh and wanting to ask Celty what's wrong. The look on her face he sees is not one of just simply going out for some fresh air but there are so many things on her mind he feels guilty for not telling his beloved anything she needs to hear and listen to what she has to say—what if he's ignoring her? Does Celty think that? Why would he do such a thing to his darling who always comes to greet him in the morning, being with him through everything he's put her through? Would that—would that be why she's walking out the door right now?

Though as soon as his hand touches the doorknob and a plethora of excuses are on his mind for ending the conversation with Aka, he doesn't hear Celty's footsteps anymore and the door to outside the apartment complex has already slammed shut like the door to his heart and he's thinking about this all wrong the same way he thinks of Celty when she's not actually there so it feels like something's missing when there is no picture to be placed in a frame. His fingers curl around the doorknob, composing himself when his head starts to hang and he rests his forehead against the door, wondering where he's gone wrong and why this is happening to them (it feels like his fault everything does why does he do this so easily without a second thought) because Celty looks upset and he hates to see her this way.

"He's not exactly a good person," he admits to Aka's inquiry, thinking in the solace of the quiet apartment while he turns back to the conversation. "I don't know how to put it, Aka-san. He's not good company from what I've known about him." This prompts a hum from the other side of the line, forcing himself to let go of the doorknob while he heads back to the couch with the hope and trust that Celty will talk to him when she needs to, he knows how smart she is and she doesn't like to hide herself, being the emotional and intelligent wonder that she is who has always been by him no matter what, no matter these things like fights that don't quite escalate into fights.

He hopes, however, that she can trust him. _"You can never judge a person by what they do to you. You have to take in account all aspects, and figure out why they treat you as they do."_

It's not that easy.

_~_

After unsuccessfully teaching Shizuo three rounds of chess and the idiot still doesn't get how Izaya can keep changing the rules—getting mad a couple times, more than a couple—and having to take breaks while trying not to break anything. Surprisingly his hands do not wander anywhere near Izaya's skin unless if Izaya tries to stretch his legs on the floor and he catches Izaya when he loses his balance, firm hands on him and trying to be gentle while Izaya squirms away, averting his eyes when it's apparent his glares are as effective as killing Shizuo. Which doesn't mean much at all because while his thoughts are at bay they still twist into his fingers that dig at his clothes, nose wrinkling when realizing that he's so thoroughly introduced to a monster's den he doesn't remember having the independence of not having Shizuo follow around like a lost puppy with a broken leg. The pity he can do without, easily, and Shizuo has the common decency to still act like an idiot.

This chess game comes before dinner, lunch a frustrating act of defiance because Izaya's stomach is killing him and cramping when he moves, bored and tired and wanting to play out strategies of chess moves to win a game for both sides when Shizuo asks him what he wants. Which is nothing, always a glass of nothing and another swallow of nothing with painkillers and whatnot because Shizuo isn't ever interested in being anything less than a heartless monster—calling Izaya one too, that doesn't even out the playing field. Nothing quite as tense as having yet another argument when Shizuo has the nerve to start another stupid argument and Izaya's too tired to bother, frustrated with the monotony of how stupid Shizuo can be.

"This round," Shizuo suddenly starts as he cleans up the game from another defeat and Izaya haughty as ever, the usual selfish bastard it almost feels like gulping saltwater forcefully because this Izaya he thinks he knows, not as caustic and explosive as the one he knows from before and the one that sincerely hates him, triggers him to become angry and mix him up. Well, Izaya's always capable of anything to tear him apart as if his thoughts don't do it enough. "If you win, you get to pick what you want for dinner." He's trying to be generous because Celty came by earlier and complimented him on how well he was doing, inviting an impromptu lunch when she comes over and helps him cook, talking with the both of them and almost a peacekeeper so fully distinguished that the anxiety he picks up from her when the smoke swirls from her head is almost entirely hidden. "If I win, you don't fuss."

"Boring," Izaya retorts almost immediately, rolling his eyes from his position constantly changing on the couch, waiting for Shizuo to clean up the last one from the ground while he keeps a hiss in his voice, still angry at some transgression Shizuo is convicted of doing without a trial or mercy. "Does Shizu-chan honestly think I care? You must think of me as an idiot." He scoffs and crosses his uninjured leg, sitting under his cast on his other leg and huffing a sigh of not quite disappointment and too many other things to be considerable concentration. All the events of today starting to seep into his skin, assimilating every last bit and he can still laugh when he glances in the mirror, to himself it's another part of pretending to care beyond tolerating every interaction with the beast.

Shizuo pats the ground impatiently when the board is set up, Izaya's side black as always because the informant is picky about his colors and suggests that Shizuo can try to be "the white knight he always pretends to be" in which he narrowly avoids a chess board to the head and being purposely knocked over. Which is completely unfair seeing as Izaya's abdomen still aches and getting up is difficult so he figures that Shizuo knows this entirely and uses this to his own advantage in the same way of disciplining a pet, which only makes the enmity worse. It still distracts the monstrous things on his mind, every time he eats and gazes off loses himself in what's not there and Shizuo sounds almost concerned. He can't have such false hopes like that.

"Get your ass down here and quit bitching," he says before Izaya can even laugh at how pathetic his threats are, sliding off the sofa with some practiced ease and hissing involuntarily when his leg slides too quickly, Shizuo up and hands on his waist in an instant that makes Izaya's head spin with too many things to question. Though as soon as Shizuo's hands help him onto the floor he quickly removes them, knowing Izaya to slap him away and hiss some form of insult or another intending to force the revelation of why he keeps trying to pretend to be a civilized beast. A laughable offense, except for the fact the feeling of Shizuo's hands imprint on his skin beneath the borrowed clothes and he finds himself loathing the stupid things that are polluting his mind from being here.

The game starts easily enough, Izaya lets Shizuo go first because of some reason pertaining to an insult, resulting in the game being won when Shizuo flips the board and or throws a piece at him. It does hurt—not that he'd admit and he'd rather have the taste of knowing he's right and that he can predict the monster for once in his stupidity that can be so easily charted like purposely cheating just to make the beast angry. Though what lies beneath makes him scowl (there's so much there he doesn't think he wants to know these things but if he needs to it's different) because Shizuo isn't meant to be complex and that's a fact Izaya will upkeep, proving himself that he can't be wrong in an ungodly pursuit to be a higher power and above his enemy, no matter the disadvantage currently applied.

It starts out simple enough, knocking down a pawn and reaching to claim it but Shizuo's hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and the shock travels up his arm and through his spine despite him not wanting it to show. "You can't do that." Shizuo starts, simply enough but his words are a challenge of spikes and barbs lying beneath the invitation for Izaya to question his knowledge, pretending to know something like the anger constantly pulsing in Izaya's veins when the beast doesn't do what he plans. "That move isn't allowed. You told me that." Izaya raises an eyebrow, taunting smirk not quite making its way onto his lips when they pull back and it's a near snarl where the monster keeps staring at him, waiting for an answer but glancing at his lips and shaking his head before Izaya can even answer. "And I checked the rules. So don't pull that cheating shit on me. It's not worth playing fairly if you don't play by the rules."

Izaya regards him with little more than cold apathy and wanting to not explain himself to an idiot. But alas, "I play by my own rules, Shizu-chan. You should bother to listen to someone other than yourself for once. Especially if they're more intelligent than you could ever be." Izaya baits, tongue catching on his words like the sticky saliva filling with venom ready to inject and burn the bridges in between them, disgusted by all of this and the fact Shizuo hasn't released his bony wrist encased in bandages, the number thirty-six bright and clear in the red pen like a stop sign for Shizuo to back off and forget about it. Which would be much nicer if he actually listened to these things like the red in his eyes isn't just for show but a warning, narrowing when Shizuo places the pawn back down by prying Izaya's fingers apart, a sign of mocking and making a show of the weakness in Izaya's fingers and the apparent lack of playing fair.

"Play by the rules." Shizuo states, simply as his eyes narrow and challenge Izaya's gaze, resuming the game once again where Izaya still manages to slide his hand and take pieces, eventually clearing the board and the welled up feeling of being watched too carefully without a word makes the silence too heavy to carry. Shizuo and his stupid rules but he can't be a human to abide by laws when he breaks everything, breaks every single destructive and peaceful thing he can get his hands on because it doesn't suit him and he is only a monster—never playing by the rules. But Izaya plays by his own rules as he runs his own business as a sense of madness comes to play that he can't possibly be near Shizuo on such a level of monstrosity (comparing himself to the insanity is impossible, he prefers the godliness of control) and then being forced to give up the control he has. It's not for Shizuo to take and it's rightfully his, controlling the cities and events and up to himself as he keeps stealing Shizuo's pieces does he realize that the idiot is purposefully losing and the game doesn't have any meaning.

Just like him.

"What happened to the shitty informant I used to know?" the monster starts back up again, quiet finally shattering in the fist clenching in between Izaya's fingers as they dig into his palm. He knows what the monster is doing and the anger is boiling over into loathing, burning when he takes yet another pawn and slides closer to a victory that doesn't give what it promises.

"He's been dead for quite some time. Thought you heard about it in the news, Shizu-chan. All the rage when the famous informant of Shinjuku suddenly drops dead."

Shizuo surges forward—unable to think control himself do anything but one simple thing, can't contain a single thought—and his face inches away from the bastard who just won another game of chess, his white queen in Izaya's hand.

"You're still here," he challenges, and Izaya's face slowly spreads into an unreadable smile, one of malice and pain and hurt beyond repair when he gives a slow smile that could send a shiver down anyone's spine.

Izaya tilts his head, eyes flickering lower and no one thinks for a minute. Nobody breathes.

Then Izaya's lips are on Shizuo's and neither of them can think clearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise extra update on a Wednesday, as I intend all updates to be. Enjoy. ^^
> 
> Thank you for reading. ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


	15. Taking Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Queen falls, but the game doesn't end.

_~_

 

 

 _...You'll never know, you never tell._  
  


If the passage of time doesn't deter him, it's the immediate shove when Shizuo can actually think let alone process the angry barrage of thoughts—what is he doing why is he doing this what is the flea planning—and then a rough shove sends Izaya backwards. Deadly anger surging in his veins keeping his heart screaming and his thoughts churning in venom. Crashing sounds of Izaya and the floor, the gasp of pain that muffles itself with an arm and the carpet he doesn't think about the consequences but rather the entire process of repeat, repeat, repeat as long as his lips are burning and Izaya is on the floor.

He finds his voice before his entire purpose of why he's still doing this, only thinking of himself and anger and frustration there are no words to express the fury in which he wants to rip Izaya apart. "What the fucking hell was that, you piece of shit!?" Anger anger anger and rage, burning trails in his skin when the chess board goes flying and Shizuo is over Izaya, one hand fisted into his shirt and the other holding him up. The sound of teeth grinding only completes the circuit of Shizuo's anger, only the slightest thing keeping him from beating Izaya to a bloody pulp and staining his floor and that is because it's too much trouble to clean out the mess. Fists clenched and tightening waiting for the first strike and Izaya glances up at him, eyes narrowed and that stupid ugly smirk on his lips makes everything soak with red. Be calm think deeply stop thinking stop _breathing_ piece of shit pathetic flea—worthless when he bares his fangs having no intention to stop when he's losing.

"Get off of me," Izaya wheezes with that white queen still tightly grasped in white knuckles and hissing in pain when Shizuo sits on his chest, fingers easily away from ripping open his skin and plucking out every last organ. "Get off! Get off me!" His throat tears and rips of blood shots fired and received when he squirms under Shizuo, feeling the fire in his left arm and his right weakly struggles, trembling under the threat of collapse and endangerment if he opens his mouth any more and his voice thickens. Shizuo doesn't pay any attention, his arm crushing Izaya's throat in a bout of life and death and breaking human bones but he is no monstrous wonder like Shizuo is. Not this way, not when gasping for air and struggling against himself even though the look in his eyes is of satisfaction and amusement. It makes Shizuo snarl, right as Izaya's lips curl into a taunting laugh and the light in his eyes fades away.

Ah, never noticing it before until just now and Izaya stops squirming with his face turning red and then a purplish color because no, he won't breathe until Shizuo says so and with that white queen in hand the monster acts like he's got it all figured out. Clenching onto some stupid piece as a declaration of winning all the stupid games he plays and never supposed to _(trust another one)_ fall back like this. The bruises are leaving but the feeling of pain and agony remains under the feel of electric heartbeats and never wanting anyone to know how it feels to be subdued and restrained. He doesn't speak, doesn't think to move or anything but watches Shizuo's eyes burn a dark brown and darken just like his but they're already dead, waiting for improvement in the monster above. Who comes out on top is the one who can be the better liar.

(Just for a kiss.)

"You think you're real cute, don't you." Shizuo growls low, lingering over Izaya with lightning-charged fingers and Izaya can't breathe at all. No need to, not to overreact to a simple brush of lips with every intention of it not being what it's supposed to be and tumultuous relationships going awry because no one knows all the rules to the game. "Think it's fucking funny to play your games, huh?" Bet it's hilarious to play a monster with a monster's game and win, just to toss him around and build him back up after the evenings of harming one's self then to pull back and wait for morning to try again. Rinse and repeat, never stopping to think of not to harm but controlling the urge to smother the insect beneath or the monster above. Just as Izaya's face turns blue and he starts to squirm out of reflex Shizuo lets him go, slapping a hand over his mouth and keeping the informant quiet while he starts to feel the steady trickle of mistakes into his head. He knows what he's done now and there's no forgiving it and neither for Izaya—not just by (not) a simple kiss and not by—knowing better than doing this to something so—reacting so badly.

"Don't say anything. You've had your fun." Shizuo spits and his hand is much larger than Izaya's gripping his wrist as tightly as possible in the phantoms of doing this before. Different timing, different meanings to be examples made of pure coincidence and forgetting in the morning if they don't mention it. Newer beginnings. "So, what was that? You wanted to fuck with me to see what I'd do?" Shizuo has good points and Izaya knows this precisely why he hates losing games and losing to the molten brown and iron grip on his mouth, smothering him and dangerously close to breaking his jaw. "Didn't think I'd be smart enough to figure it out, right? Well if you're so fucking intelligent, you should've noticed by now." He heaves a sigh heavy enough to bring the apartment down, the air fragile and covered with dust stirred in their battle for war. Everything in low tones, nothing else exists because if it does then it dies and that's how the world of a monster works.

Shizuo spies the abandoned sling for Izaya's arm and sits up, hand still on Izaya's mouth never looking down to see the glare of red and feel any sense of _something_ when he tugs it back on the left arm, over Izaya's head and pulls the sleeve down over the red numbers of Izaya's right arm. "I'm done playing with you, Izaya. The _only_ reason you're here is because I was nice enough to help you out. Shinra didn't want you. _Nobody_ wanted to help you." Shizuo swallows and it echoes nicely over the sound of Izaya's breaths caught in his throat and fingers uncurling. The white queen dangles dangerously over the edge.

"And I don't see why I thought it was a good idea in the first place."

Izaya blinks, slow and steady and Shizu-chan never sees. Shizuo's rough fingers let go of him, leaving stinging imprints in his aching jaw and his heart starts to hammer and slow in his chest. Leaving a mess on the floor, watching the beast get up and walk away without another word or a glance back. No remorse.

"You never needed to know, Shizu-chan." Izaya swallows, watching. Shizuo keeps on walking, disappearing down the hall. His right hand is empty, on the floor and the white queen rolls away. She doesn't get very far, having no place to go besides off-white carpet. Maybe if she listens while Izaya doesn't she can hear the sound of a phone being dialed and Shizuo's voice in the paper-thin walls.

Maybe it's better if she doesn't.

His voice finds itself, trailing off the walls and the smell of cigarette smoke. The _fwoosh_ of a lighter is missed and he can hear the click of ignition and fire crackling in his ears. He doesn't need to hear, anyway. All that's said and done lying on the floor in one lost game of chess and no coming back from the bottom, if he has reached the end. It's a lonely place to start from the end, working the way back up because if there isn't a deeper place he's reached then now can be the start, crammed back down despite his best attempts of not wanting to believe much more than lying on a floor and feeling the pain of being slammed down starting to throb in his body. Surely he can move himself over to his wheelchair, across the room and funny how it always mocks him. Waiting there waiting for his latest mistake to fall over and then for a chair with an excuse to pick him up and never leave him be but keep _asking_ the wrong questions (over and over and over again) until numbly shaking his head won't get him anywhere.

That's fine. Perfectly fine. Just how it should be.

(Just like this.)

"...You never needed to care, Shizu-chan."

(Some things sound best on paper.)

His voice starts to crack and splinter and break but his hands can't find substitutes in the ripping of the number thirty-six and pretending he knows better than himself and all of the games he plays. Those are fun and easy and exciting as soon as eyes light up in the thrill of the chase and never looking back. Easier to not think about it when constantly thinking far too much to stay sane and the release is in the unspoken things that get stomped into the ground and come like bruises and leave like scars. Izaya can imagine the broken things that get broken from Shizuo interfering and his fault in the important matters that Shizu-chan doesn't break all by himself. No, he doesn't know much at all and never needs to know that the adult things he never understands are Izaya's fault and will never take the blame for failing to stand up for this long.

Half of the way belly-up and giving up now. Pathetic and senseless, just like thinking he can so easily win what he doesn't know and Shizuo's words in his ears, ringing and never stopping to think for whatever reason things like this happen and why he is the catalyst in ruining himself before succumbing to self-sabotage. Shizuo's voice isn't tangible, isn't able to be heard through the paper-thin walls if Izaya can hold a hand up to stop the sounds starting to trickle from his mouth from trying to breathe once in a while. His right arm aches and he doesn't get very far, letting it thump back to the floor pretending it's fine and that the slow blinks work when he doesn't want to have more than he needs in planning bad decisions. It's not about the food or the way it sinks into his stomach to leave ulcers of pain and fill them up again and again with more and more, clutching onto the wasting material of bone and making him ready to be eaten alive.

So if Shizu-chan can talk and talk the rest of the day away while Izaya finds himself thoroughly trapped in a monster's den, then so be it. Not that his eyes burn—not quite like that, never, no—and the shorter breaths trying to grow longer but if they do then it means he's losing the grasp but she's already slipped away. All reasons to ignore this and then put thoughts on the shelves for later use and then the scornful thinking of burning himself up into crisps of paper from thoughtless decisions and words. Inky black characters, leaking onto his skin he can trace into the white of the ceiling with the same accusations, wordless and building on foundations of inches of skin where lie meets actuality.

It was all _just_ a game. No consideration to him or anything related but more of their own interest, leaving him vulnerable and useless in a life that's not his and angry desperation latching onto his fingers he can only stop to blink and keep thinking of trying to even out his breaths. The shorter they get the more likely he is to lose—dark clouds looming overhead ready to give in the moment things go awry like they always do and then someone has to come in, play the hero and the game ends. Except these are his games like playing with Shizuo until he snaps and then finds himself as he usually does at the bad end of a business deal playing with monsters. Fire meets the porcelain protective words of being better if he just stuffs himself full of nothing and then burns and breaks over and over again until glue and tape don't fix the things that leave like scars on his arms. They all think it's funny, no one wants to see him until he's back to the same annoying thing that bothers them all behind the motivation of conversations spitting sour and the only reason is to keep watching because of the gruesome fact no one can look away. Humans are so easily predictable, staring at something horrible and never looking away because it's easy to deny anything than it is to satiate curiosity.

So he can stay like this, waiting for a fortune on the ceiling of a shoddy apartment realizing this isn't the same Orihara Izaya at all. No, no, he's lying on the floor of his apartment, succumbing to the desire of not wanting to feel much at all. No Shizu-chan and white queens and forced feedings and ripping stomachs open until they bleed from his eyes and nights of sharing things with unexplained reasons why. It's all back down to quietly counting the hours just to know when he can leave. Two months minimum. Two months and never see and never feel again if he can survive long enough with Shizu—Shizuo, who's giving up on him now. Easy to see, not the ceiling when his eyes are either close, blurry, or sadistic in burning and tearing at the seams of trying to keep himself composed for just a little longer, this hasn't really happened except when he thinks it escalates higher and higher until he could just simply jump off a building and pretend to fly.

It's not like he can expect any more if _nobody_ decides to notice.

The first words that come from Shizuo's mouth are a surprise even to himself like happy birthdays and empty Valentine's Day celebrations for no good reason at all. These words sound sticky and hollow with points of shells and not much more to say if he doesn't speak up. "I can't do this, Shinra." Actions speak louder than words. And actions of not wanting to go back out there and do something means it's not okay to want to do something he can't bring himself to do, knowing the exact reason Izaya is lying on the floor with a white queen and no wins except cheating himself of another life they're not supposed to be thinking of. It would be nicer if he could just stop and restart, make sure this never happens but if he considers the opposite side of the reaction and the catalyst while having never been okay at chemistry, then maybe he can try to (understanding is the point, right) forget this is happening.

It's harder to run and slip and fall on his mistakes. _"What do you mean you can't? Are you okay? Is Izaya okay?"_ Shinra doesn't understand the explosive cause and effect that becomes Shizuo knowing he's too much of a monster and Izaya is something _else_ which is why this will never work out when his heart is pounding and his ears are swimming with blood and anger, screaming in eardrums ready to pop from the pressure of trying to not sound angry. At who—that's a bloodied draw card smeared on this rotten chessboard. _"What's going on? What happened over there now?"_ And maybe more questions of weren't they doing just fine earlier and why does this have to keep repeating itself in the history of making things harder when confronted with two opposing sides, hate and frustration he'll mask for something else and blame it entirely on different meanings.

And he—"It's fine." Shizuo picks his words that thunk in his mouth up to his empty brain filled with nothing but unnamed emotions he's never been good at deciphering wondering if the same applies to—the opposite, just thinking before he speaks for once and trying not to sound as stupid as he does and has been thus far. "But I can't keep taking care of him, Shinra." There is nothing more to say as an excuse because he's done, called it quits giving up when the going gets tough and frustratingly painful to say in the least in the minor excruciating details of _why_ that he (can never really try to manage much more) can't explain.

Shinra goes quiet and Shizuo half expects him to call him out on the lie, the bluff the glue holding this conversation together on shaky legs and foundations of knowing the truth when he can call it and then demand an explanation that can't be given. _"Why's that?"_ He knows. Of course he knows because he's Izaya friend-whatever and he knows these things because Shizuo isn't screaming with rage and he can simply say that he doesn't want to ruin the dirty dusty balance of breaking off into two separate drifts and never righted again. Shinra doesn't need to ask any more than usual and it's fine as long as Shizuo can forget everything else except staring at the wall sitting on the bed filled with two occupants when it's dark and forgetting things like why he's even doing this in the first place. Which he knows already, but then he doesn't really know more than the not quite sure routine of pretending to know better.

"I can't..." Sounding resignation never has the satisfaction of keeping still, making every nerve spark and sizzle in the flames of biting his tongue down, grinding skid marks of trekking over unmarked territory. Fresh and raw, just like trying to explain and things going down, down, down. "Dealing with him is impossible, Shinra. At any moment he fucking opens his mouth, I'll break him in half." Shizuo starts out slow and steady, sounding words to himself that tease and stick thorny structures into his head—doesn't know _half_ of starting over (and over) again trying to keep things sane inside mind and body—he sighs and wants a cigarette but remembers the last pack has been missing and or crushed somewhere in between fighting with Izaya and trying not to rip out those red burning coals in his eyes. Dark black when realizing how soulless his reflection looks in a red mirror.

Shinra's tongue clicks and Shizuo feels the desire to rip it clean off, knowing to still his own because of the shit he's digging himself into. _"Don't you get it? He's been trying to get you to do what he wants. Why are you listening to him?"_ Shinra starts slow, comforting in chiding and maybe he'd be a good father to the horrifying mix of monster and human children with fetishes for picking apart faeries. Or—rather not think about that, no no no. _"If you give in and hurt him, it means you're proving that his own self-destruction isn't enough on him. Are you even looking at him, Shizuo?"_ He doesn't like the sound of Shinra of all people getting angry at him when he's done nothing wrong but _try_ and keep going when the feel of lips on his, cold and dry, sear into his flesh like a horrible tattoo with sunburned skin.

Pinching his fingers together, against the bridge of his nose trying to make things make sense for once. "Yeah, yeah. I know—that's why I'm on the damn phone. But you don't get it Shinra. And you can't, because you have no fucking _idea—_ " Stop talking stop sounding so selfish when he doesn't have the right to and Shinra cuts him off immediately because Shizuo knows he's crossing boundaries and smearing lines of trust and contempt.

" _I do have an idea, Shizuo."_ Shinra is calm, better than when Shizuo wants to break through his phone and throttle the bastard until he realizes that no he doesn't and never will understand much. _"I watched him when he first woke up. And do you know what he looked like? He looked so angry and confused why it didn't work. After all, he had taken more than enough morphine to kill someone like_ you _and still managed to live after I reversed the effect and kept him alive."_ Shizuo's never thought to keep Izaya's previous memories alive the same way with injections interjecting into his thoughts the moments of when he feels the anger raging through him, salt and burn and ugly black slime keeping him sticky and itching. There's no possible way to think beyond keeping him an enemy lying low sitting on the floor itching for blood and staining the same way Shizuo finds to keep looking in his mirror for signs of turning into a monster.

He doesn't have anything to say to that. The concept of suicide is...so—horrifying painful sickening never thinking of morals colliding and then to speak on it is only solidifying how much of an idiot he is.

A wise decision. _"But I know that you two aren't that close. What happened? Why are you giving up now?"_

Raking a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall in the very same place Izaya sleeps and never stopping to think for much longer. "I don't want that...y'know, to happen again. Him being with me is only gonna make him worse, and you know that, so don't bullshit me. You saved him once, sure, but you can't save him again." Shizuo feels the anger bubble up because he knows that he's right for once in this petty argument turning dour quickly and he doesn't give Shinra room to speak because they both realize how selfish he is. "I'm not doing this for the money, Shinra. I'm doing this because you dumped him on me when you didn't want to help him. So you shipped him off to his enemy and expect him to get better? I thought you were a crackhead doctor, not a fucking idiot in a lab coat." Although he can say it all he wants the sting doesn't stop even in the midst of admitting things that he wouldn't in the dark. And the dark is in the confines of one and one mistake piling up after another.

" _So you're going to just give up then? On something probably small enough to get over?"_ Avoiding the question, just like the sneaky tactic Izaya would apply but being this fucking disgusting makes Shizuo even angrier, knowing just how much Shinra can dump things over being the airhead filled with hot air and empty knowledge just to piss him off. _"You're doing this because you care, Shizuo. You two can play enemies all you want, fine by me, but you keep him alive."_

"Stop avoiding the fucking question! You know what would happen, didn't you!? Isn't this just some sick experiment? You don't even give a shit about him. 'Cause if you did, you'd know that the Shiki guy that called made Izaya lose it. You'd know what shit he plays and the fact that I can't help him at all. So are you satisfied now, freak? Knowing you, I bet you would be." Slamming his phone against the bed, better than against the wall hissing in frustration when the call ends and he can't listen to that bullshit anymore when he's had enough, knowing he can't sit in silence waiting for all of this to have some sort of reasoning behind it—selfishness, lazy, greedy stupid things and he knows why he hates Shinra for being so petty. If he's even worse—not lying on the floor, not eyes dulling and the feel of a throat collapsing beneath his fingers.

His phone buzzes from his bed, probably Celty and more likely to not answer yet. Maybe he'll feel bad, past the swallowing thickness of knowing what he's doing to himself and not caring at this point. Two weeks in and he hates all of this, hates how much he has to deal with lying and irritating people just like the flea—Izaya, on his floor and responsible for dealing damage. Sighing heavily and itching for smokes he sits and waits, silent for listening to the sound of any indication of Izaya in the other room he's ignored for this long. Another buzzing sound from his phone and he's not about to listen to much more than the simple things that mean not becoming the monster he already is and do _something._

It takes more than just telling himself to leave him room. Getting up, away from the bed and where worse things can happen besides the usual of shouting to hear himself when Izaya's annoying and never shuts up and when he doesn't talk the silence isn't any better. Not the white noise buzzing in his head telling him to stop thinking about this and just stop trying to make any sense of what isn't. All he knows is that Izaya is playing a game that he can't win and Shinra—he'd rather not say anything that would sentence him to murder by Celty and he knows who it is when his phone buzzes. Instead he'll leave it for the sake of keeping his sanity one more night and knowing that there will be a time when all of this is over. In a matter of months, even, to get things right and try not to go insane.

Izaya hears the turn and click of the doorknob, maybe it's just in his head when trying to keep himself calm, numbers on his fingers tapping patterns onto the floor he hasn't gotten up from—no reason at all, not himself, not when his head spins and his leg is aching too much to move. After all, Shizuo's strength had forgotten the cast on his leg and left it bent at an uncomfortable position, too much to move himself over to the couch and get up and off of himself and anything else he's been reduced to. Being immobilized means being dehumanized—ha ha, very funny because after all Shizu-chan treats him like a delicate little human—but after today there isn't much to do but to keep trying not to think when his brains starts to swell with too many thoughts. The white queen lies next to him, dead from trying to indulge her passions of having all the power in the world while attached to a floor, rolled out of reach.

"Izaya?" his name rings in the stale air and he doesn't figure to hear it or try to, dizzy on pain in his leg going numb and feeling uncomfortable enough on the floor, ought to be where he stays because Shizuo will be coming to pick him up and toss him back to Shinra like a rag doll, because everyone is going to give up on him if they haven't—of course they have. There's no point in trying for something so stupid with knives running up his leg, thinking that only a monster can pull him apart like this but after all being so fragile on a floor of a stinking apartment makes things only worse. There's no point in trying to climb up, not from rock bottom sitting on off-white carpet pretending to be fine. Even his eyes sting in distaste.

They're red, like the number on his right arm that's been concealed especially by the monster who doesn't want to look at him. So he turns his head upon hearing footsteps, not able to move much more than to chuck chess pieces at an unamused expression before he tastes copper and burning blood. It's better if he doesn't move don't breathe don't blink don't think because if he does then the method of control he has stops working and then everything turns to shambles on an afternoon of spending his life wasting in a cast and a source of amusement for anyone else.

Sounds like hell and all things unholy—exactly what he is.

"Izaya, shit," Shizuo's voice sounds much quieter now, not as angry but something that leaks into _concern_ that is highly unnecessary and for all he knows as fake and disgustingly so when the beast tries to come closer. He knows the feel of dry lips and he knows exactly what he's done and by now surely Shizuo must be done with trying to get revenge. All to see someone lose control and then be trapped by his own mistakes—no wonder he won't make it very far anyway, seeing as he hasn't moved at all. "What are you doing on the floor? Get up already." Static shock in heartbeats starting to quicken when Izaya hears the same growl in his voice and knowing that the burn of bruises on his throat means this won't end easily. He'd prefer if the beast would stop taunting him with such tangible things but there is no limit to the madness he already puts himself through. Grinding his teeth together over the scores of sores on his tongue and bitten cheeks he can't help but remember that the anxiety medication should make him feel calmer, not like a test subject with a broken form and never to pick himself up.

He doesn't listen. "Izaya," Shizuo kneels down, Izaya's eyes staring away and his neck turned to the pretty flash of pale bruises reminding Shizuo exactly why he can't be anything but a monster and something horrifying to look at, having to watch Izaya glance away and the careful swallow that moves down his throat. Shizuo knows the look but not on Izaya, hates the way it (cuts underneath his skin he'll never be able to pull it out) looks when he's not trying to do more than damage and angry denials of ever laying his hands—Celty would be upset with him.

"...Can't move," Izaya's voice sounds tight, strained like a cord ready to snap with all the pressure put on it and Shizuo doesn't try to reach his eyes, not there for him and not wanting this just as much as he doesn't. He can't see what he's done far beyond the purpling color of not trusting himself to touch so he doesn't and if he has to then there should be a muzzle put on him to keep from disappointing everyone else even more. Only the ones he cares about—they'd laugh, call him a monster and he knows they will so he won't try to stop them.

But maybe he can try to do something right. "Hold still, tell me if I hurt you." Funny joke, hilariously cruel and sad because this is reality and Izaya isn't as delicate as he seems, broken toys littered on the ground right before Shizuo in the man-sized childishness that fits him like a glove and noticing that Izaya's left leg is at an awkward position. Hands slide underneath Izaya, never wanting to look him in the eyes not wanting to touch him for shame of being so stupid to ever—refusing to talk more until he gets an answer for why the bastard makes everything confusing from trying to make him angry when he knows he can't win to being so frustrating it hurts not to break everything. As carefully as he can, Shizuo pulls Izaya up, watching the twinging expression of pain when Izaya bites his cheek hard as his leg moves, hissing quietly and anything else Shizuo can't hear. It's better if he doesn't.

"You gonna be okay?" He doesn't sound like himself. It's not about him but at the same time he wants it to be so he can just—

And it's fine, awkward and embarrassing until the laughter penetrates his ears, choking sounding thick and heavy and filled with everything that it's not but still trying. Shizuo feels the rage start up again as the blackened hand clenching his chest tightly ready to burst him open and reveal all the organs of a monster, thick stitches to cling him together and keep the skin taut and ready to burst. Izaya's body shakes as he laughs, being carried with a compromised position while his leg stings and no one needs to know these things or hear the sound of breaking things apart—all the while enjoying the humor of it.

And then when Izaya's right hand comes up to his face Shizuo catches it, getting the surprised look just before he puts Izaya on the couch and then stopping cold; heavy, and his stomach dropping to boil away in the acids of being the unforgettable sting of something other than anger starting to seize him up and squeeze inside of every pore and every misguided sense of doing something right.

Izaya laughs, and the sound is much more broken when his voice cracks and his eyes are artificially bright.

There are no words left to speak, not when Izaya can count the reasons why Shizuo has no right to stare.

There isn't much left for him to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Izayan and Shizu-chan, you ruin me, you stupid things. Such a short chapter with plenty of frustration after being busy for so long. D: And all of you waited for the conclusion to suspense, now for even more! Hahahah~! >:D
> 
> Thank you for reading. ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


	16. Addictive Tastes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change has an addictive quality to it.

_~_

 

 

_...You take the only things I've ever known._  
  


His lungs are on fire and his throat burns with the embers, tickling with the catch and sizzle of regret and anger stinging sharp and clear into his nose. Fumes are bound to come from his ears and maybe his eyes when they're wet and oily, catching fire with his skin dangerously close to the heat and melting the ice that sticks in his chest and just won't let him _breathe_ for one minute in a gaze full of ice. Shizu-chan just looks at him, right through him and those stupid brown eyes aren't good for anything except ignoring the obvious when _of course_ he's not _fine_ or _okay_ or anything else monsters use to cover up when they're wounded. It's ridiculous and impossible and so stupid to bother with trying to care anymore. At this point the best thing to do is just give up, pretend for another day, and as soon as he can he'll leave and then Shizu-chan won't have to look like a fucking moron who doesn't have a clue of what he's doing.

Izaya tries not to think about the effect it's having on him. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Shizu-chan. I don't want to hear any of your apologies or pretending that you care—I've had _enough!_ " And it's not going to be the last time he'll hear it—he's only getting the full brunt of the heated stare that just won't die and leave him alone, treating him like he's not a doll with glassy eyes and wet fire threatening to spill and devour every shred of what he has left. It's objectionable to say there isn't anything left (what would he know after all this time of pretending to play house and he's—) for him to hold onto. Just some unspoken apology, cringing and hopeless when he dares to return Shizu-chan's gaze and hiss like he isn't about to die from a crushing grip. Maybe he likes to gamble more than he'll admit to.

"What the hell are you—" Shizuo tries to interject but _no,_ he's had enough time talking and being in charge of this one-sided conversation. It's how it always is with them, unstoppable force and immovable objects colliding and sizzling and freezing over stiff and slick with the things that Izaya claws at his eyes for. If he bothers to look and Izaya won't care if he does or doesn't, knowing that breaking toys is far beyond crossing the line and he's broken his own rules, not wanting to deal with the consequences that start to flood and burn and trickle too deeply to rip off the flesh from his thoughts.

Everything is chaos—it always has been, for the longest time. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't lie to me now, Shizu-chan." Izaya hisses, right hand threatening to pluck out his eye and so be it if he does. The stupid things are so _useless_ when he can't see through them clearly, can't keep the hand that hovers close to him from leaving and pretending has gone on for far too long to be fun anymore. He hates this, hates everything that comes with confusion and monsters and everything that happens in his mind that becomes explosive and impossible to contain. "You toss me around as much as you like, do whatever you want with me—and why not? I'm your worst enemy, right here at your convenience. Why don't you just kill me already?" He's playing with fire, he knows it and it's the same reason he swallows and it sticks the day down a burning trail, hungry for more to keep the fire burning into his bones.

The itty bitty cracking sounds are just breaking through the exterior—that's all. From anger to calm to something twisted—unreadable, as frustrating as always when it comes to Shizu-chan. "What, you think I'm just some monster that's gonna kill you?" Shizuo's hand is nearby, the other one keeping himself away from Izaya's space, but still bending his knees to get a better look and Izaya's gaze is getting shifty now. He'll think about it later, when it's not as important as now to stop thinking in the wrong direction turning back to this sort of anger he has for himself that comes out in all the worst ways. It's the hard part of dealing with Izaya, one of the many facets of keeping himself in control and he knows what a shitty job he's done of that.

"But you think that anyway, don't you?" Shizuo scowls, drawing himself away and the lingering hand _just_ hovering over Izaya's knee pulls away and he backs away, knowing he's got to compose himself and perhaps not stare so intently at the fires pooling into Izaya's eyes with how bright and pinprick points of his pupils convince him to keep searching for the cause. Maybe it's lost. "'Cause I'm a dumb monster who can't think of anything but killing you. You wanna know something?" Why is he saying this why is he _admitting_ this to Izaya of all people and well his tongue is throwing a fit and refuses to shut up when he really needs it to.

Tch. Izaya won't believe him anyway, no matter what he says. But as Shizuo's gaze breaks from Izaya's he thinks he hears a sigh, soft and waning and sounding like something so _(defeated)_ empty it can't be from Izaya. "You're not that Izaya this monster wanted to kill. All you are to me now is the Izaya that I'm taking care of, whether or not he likes it because he's stubborn and I have no idea what I'm doing here. So I fuck up, yeah, but I'm not killing you."

The laughter just sounds only convincing that Izaya is everything but full of himself. Or confident, with that cocky purse of lips that's much too big for what Shizuo has seen and he's not wanting to argue about this because it keeps coming up and slipping over his tongue and there's a chill when he catches Izaya's eyes, regarding him with disgust. "Did you think it was that easy to convince me? Shizu-chan, you shouldn't underestimate me so badly. It's degrading enough to your lack of intelligence, but to insinuate that I'm an idiot, you obviously have some stupid hope that you can convince yourself that, ne?" The mocking tone of his voice invites the biting sort of sarcasm and anger that can radiate from Shizuo and hit him, fueling him more and it'll keep his words burning on his tongue fighting fire with more fire and gasoline until the stupid wetness in his eyes will just dissipate on its own.

Too many things come to mind and tongue and Shizuo figures it's best to calm _down,_ think this through and clench his fingers into fists even when he's not mad at Izaya as much as he is at himself, knowing that if he reacts badly then he'll be the idiot Izaya says he is. He can't keep doing this, he's already fucked up plenty of times and yet there's still the urge to kill the bastard when he knows it's not the same. Even with the thought of murder, his mind is disquieted by the pictures of blood and it being _his fault_ until every last breath is drained from the flea and all the parasitic qualities will be on his hands.

It's so fucking _hard_ (confusion and frustration like to take their turns with him and all the things he _could_ say) to keep himself from an explosive argument because he's watching and when he sees that Izaya's rubbing at his eyes again it's some sort of cold slick feeling that dumps down his spine and keeps him from being too stupid.

He'd like to call it self-control, but then that's an insult to the patience and frustration Izaya's suffered through and he knows why and he knows how with that bitter feeling that just won't go away. Biting his tongue produces a similar effect of tasting copper and feeling the metal sting his mouth.

"Why keep me alive, Shizu-chan?" Izaya's looking at him again, but his gaze is wobbly and his words are too soft to be the same biting snap of angry and tired of dealing with everything else. "You don't gain anything from it. What's the point of keeping me here? Revenge? I think you've had your fill, if all of that humiliation counted for anything." And he looks tired, mixing expressions changing collision courses when he just wants to be done with this and he'd rather not deal with this anymore. All of this is by something out of his control, out of reach and therefore something that stirs the anxiety in the back of his mind, muted by the drugs Shinra's given him and he thinks that the sort of chemical apathy that it takes to subdue him must mean that he's just far too much to handle. For one beast, it means more than just a question of _why._

(In his head there are things that are chaotic and then the fleeting thoughts that still slow but gain speed after trudging through murky things like pesky feelings and trapped emotions.)

Shizu-chan stays quiet and all of these things churn and burn and sting in his eyes even if he wipes his thumb, just a brush, against his cheek and then it comes back wet and he's feeling the embarrassment start to ache in the pit of his overfed stomach. There has to be a decision made—he knows this because he won't have it any other way, not with how this game is being played against him when it's for him and he has plenty of objections to voice that keep stinging his eyes and they just won't _stop_ to let him think for one minute.

He summons the best cat-like smile he can manage, one that feels jagged and rough around the edges and still _dangerous_ to the touch of watching Shizu-chan react because he's only forgotten who Izaya is. All this time and he's still an idiot that just won't learn, not with the opportunity right in front of him to cut his stupid losses and give in when he just can't win. No one is allowed to win these sorts of things because Izaya doesn't fancy himself as a game, but rather the one who makes them.

"So, Shizu-chan, make a decision. Let me go home, or stop all of _this_ ," Izaya spits the last, meaning no he's not done and he doesn't think he'll be until he's had enough of making sure Shizu-chan knows how stupid he is and how much he's done wrong. If he doesn't kill him first, then the guilt will only manifest to every deep and dark corner of Shizu-chan and monster to be picked apart as soon as he starts to rot into unsightly monster parts of flesh and bristling accusations. "As in treating me like I'm a toy of yours to throw around, because I happen to not be so flexible at the moment, ne? And I don't think you'd agree with me, but then again, you're not the one who was left on the _floor._ "

And the worst part is that Shizuo finds himself agreeing in the same likely actions of doing before he actually thinks of what the hell he's doing. Because then there's the realizations, the accusations and the frustrations of wanting to refute that Izaya brings it on himself, it's all his fault and then it's supposed to be his fault for all of this shit that makes Shizuo's brain collapse on itself just from _thinking_ of the goddamn louse. He doesn't doubt that Izaya would be flattered and disgusted, knowing of exactly how long he's been festering in his brain and he just won't leave no matter how long Shizuo pushes it away—the guilt the feelings the things that stick and ooze and leave him frustrated when nights are cold and he remembers _one_ moment of silence.

...Back in his room, the one night where he can recall the feeling of Izaya sleeping against him when he stops shuddering for once and actually goes to sleep. Soft breaths and the thin sheets over him, realizing he has his worst enemy in his bed and he's not doing anything about it and the part that he tries to deny always wins in that argument like it did then.

It's worse when he realizes, blithely with this numb stickiness clinging to his throat, that he can't deny Izaya's accusations. He knows exactly of what he's done and it's not _that_ which makes him angry but it's more of the fact he remembers bits of his conversation with Celty at the worst times to remember them and it's stupid when he feels like pulling his hair out—this is what Izaya feels all these times and he can't be bothered to _think_ for fucking _once_ when he's mixed up switching sides playing games—when he can only think of the headache that starts to form and he's too convinced that he can't give it up. He can't win this stupid game he's made up and tugging Izaya along with because Izaya's _fault_ is supposed to be that he can't get out of Shizuo's head and he's been in there for far too long and it's no wonder he's so fucking stupid sometimes it's painful to watch.

Except then there's Izaya, eyes torn away and staring at his feet and Shizuo has to remind himself countless times that the way his eyes are staring into space means they're empty with that bright artificial taste of pretending to be so goddamn gleeful when he's just a transparent little shit—then _why_ does he pull the same shit that Izaya does!?

God fucking damn it. This is already exhausting, just like his fingers that have loosened themselves to have the gravitating urge heading toward Izaya's knee before he stops himself cold.

Apparently he's been silent for too long because Izaya's eyes are back on him and he doesn't get why his throat is burning or why he feels blood hot and sticky in his veins and itchy beneath the skin. "You know, I could pay you more than whatever Sh—Shinra pays you. I could give you anything you want...though there are exceptions you've been keen on testing the boundaries of." Izaya keeps his appeal in this vicious sort of tone, two parts things Shizuo doesn't want to be reminded of and all the other parts being that he can't bring himself to consider. Not when he's been this much (of a fucking asshole) and he knows, just an indication, of how much he's turned himself into the monster he never wanted to be.

It's supposed to be Izaya's fault.

Shizuo swallows, shaking his head. "I'm not in this for the money."

He doesn't sound as convincing as he should be—it _is_ the (unexplained undetermined understated undesirable) truth, after all—so he can't blame Izaya for narrowing his eyes, brow furrowing into this look of contempt and he's never really noticed how expressive Izaya is just for a couple of emotions.

"Then what are you doing this for?" Izaya's eyes are on him and they burn copper tastes and eyes that haunt him whenever he's not looking at them. He can feel the itch under his skin, demanding to be scratched and then the quieter part shouting abuses that it's Izaya's fault for playing him and ruining everything he touches and the hard part about facing up to the facts is admitting he's not only an idiot, but wrong. Admitting _that_ to Izaya sounds beyond frustrating and painful and just plain humiliating when he doesn't think of Izaya's heavier share of humiliation in the times he's been here, forced to play along to some childish game that's never really ended but it started somewhere.

_Answer him. He deserves to know—start here._

Start over. Repeating the mantra in his head, almost unwillingly, he clears his throat and makes a point of stuffing his hands in his pockets so he doesn't touch the knee folded up in a casual position when he's just picked Izaya up off the floor earlier. From his own doing, he may as well add.

"'Cause I'm an idiot," he almost whispers, a low rumble in his words too soft to sound straight and he's really not and hasn't been for a long time. When Izaya's watching him this closely with the intent to dissect him in those red pools of blood and danger and stop signs then he's got to start paying attention to the warnings that come with playing with fire. "And you staying here is an excuse for me to say I'm not a monster like you are, but look how that turned out." A hand through his hair sticks and stays, turning away from the eyes that ask questions he can't answer yet and it's this dull sort of ache that keeps ringing in his ears and down to every throb of his blood slamming into constricting veins. He keeps himself half-turned, half thinking maybe this is going to be a chance he has to take and it's frustrating to think about this anymore.

"So that's it?" Izaya's voice brings him back to reality and it's an ugly one he'd rather not be in, not now not ever not especially when—"You just wanted to prove yourself? Well, Shizu-chan, for once I actually agree. Now with that out of the way, why am I still here then?"

_Because you're broken and I want to help you I can't fix you when I'm dangerous like this and you're not good for me but look what I've done to you—_

"To apologize." Shizuo doesn't let Izaya interrupt him now, not when he's gone and said it and the cat's clawed itself loose. "I don't expect you to forgive me or give a shit. The only thing you have to do is try to get better."

Silence is an ugly thing that's far too common in his apartment, even with two occupants. Izaya's off doing something while Shizuo takes the chance to leave, harsh reminders of _coward_ in his ears and he'll never live this down, not when he's done the one thing he'd never bring himself to but he _did_ and that's got to mean something more than just Izaya's lack of laughter and something more like trying to not thumb the stray drop of shimmery wet saltwater that he watched tipping dangerously over the edge of Izaya's eyelashes.

It's better to let Izaya sit with it, since Shizuo knows he's done more than enough to cause it. All these changing things, though, they keep him guessing and frustrated because now he's not sure if they're ever going back to whatever that was before and he's not sure if he wants that again when he has Izaya on his couch too silent and too many differences compared to the other Izaya he knows and demonizes.

His hands grip the edge of his kitchen counter when he makes his way over and Izaya decides to speak up.

"How stupid, Shizu-chan," of all things he sounds like his voice won't hold up to expectations and he won't look at the monster who's made a mess of himself—understandable, since Shizuo wouldn't either and he's more likely to push it aside and ignore it for later. "Giving up everything, just to apologize to someone you hate."

Throat clenching, he shakes his head when it's been long and far from the old games and the old Izaya and the old Shizuo, too. That one wouldn't be fucking stupid enough to keep doing whatever the fuck he did if he realized that the game has long since been changed.

Except Izaya doesn't know, and Shizuo wonders if that's actually intentional or he's just too good at hiding every blaring thought on his face.

"Yeah," he calls, no longer interested in grabbing a milk bottle and turning to lie against the counter top, hands coming up to cradle his head and the throbbing headache that just won't leave him be. What Izaya doesn't know he doesn't have to see so long as Shizuo can pretend this isn't happening and he's been doing it long enough, so it's got to count for something. "Stupid, right?"

"Only Shizu-chan," Izaya murmurs, voice trailing off and it hitches—Shizuo knows the sound and he's starting to freak out a little bit over wondering how the hell he's gotten this far and he hasn't tripped over how he notices when Izaya's breathing is still hiccupping, still soft and still his fault. As long as he stays silent those questions and the frustrating goddamn realizations that taunt and mock and pull him apart will keep fighting with him and he may be the strongest man in Ikebukuro or fucking Tokyo but he sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

Not especially when only a little while later Izaya's asleep, judging by the lack of hiccupping and the urge to clamp his hand over the flea's mouth so he won't have to hear the sound of breaking down. It's only then when he makes his way back to the couch, careful and slow like he's got something to be afraid of and maybe he does, maybe he's too stupid to realize when he's overstepping boundaries.

As his thumb brushes away salty water and cold traces on Izaya's skin, he questions himself bitterly on how the _hell_ he's fallen this far.

The scary thing is, there is no answer.

_~_

 

Things are eerily quiet for the next couple of days. Not like Izaya's not already used to it, but the extra effort of keeping the apartment in next to complete silence is starting to irritate him more than it should. On one hand he's supposed to be grateful for the silence, no arguments taking place and no dealing with fights when he eats whatever Shizu-chan gives him with the same slick grimace and Shizu-chan doesn't say anything. Just waits, sometimes he watches Izaya eat until Izaya stops and then his gaze wanders again and if it's anything else then it's helping Izaya hold chopsticks or the pesky spoon that comes with the boring array of new soups to eat. By now he should be sick of them and he _is_ but it isn't quite the same disgust without fighting and being forced to take the disgustingly bitter pills that sour his tongue and burn his eyes. He hates the feeling of being watched and he hates the silence as soon as one day passes and he still feels sick to his stomach with that curdled ache that just won't let him rest.

Shizu-chan is a completely different story. Not only is he infuriatingly silent but he won't do much of _anything—_ make meals, bring things home for Izaya to amuse himself whenever he naps, and just exist generally to piss Izaya off without actually doing anything. It's very effective, if that's what the idiot is going for (somehow he doubts this with his shriveled up sense of humor) then he's already achieved it. _Years_ ago. Somehow it doesn't stop the protozoan brute from keeping himself quiet, save for the times when Izaya has to get dressed or bathe and it's still too much strain on his weakened body so it's best to use the beast when there's no other option. And sometimes Shizuo will contribute to a weak conversation, trying to distract awkward and humiliating when Izaya never likes relying on a monster for basic necessities but with the time they've been stuck together he'll have to grit his teeth and bear it, so long as Shizu-chan could just _stop_ being so annoying by being an asshole or way too quiet. And even if Izaya is known for liking the sound of his own voice he hates silence much more than he hates arguing with Shizu-chan.

Maybe it's just bothering him that there are four new raised lines under a bandage of thirty-six and Shizuo has forgotten to count them recently with rebandaging, since the bandages always rub Izaya's skin raw and with being clever he can hide them easier. Long gashes, dripping into a bathtub that stains pink and drains quickly before Shizu-chan can knock and ask if he's all right. Of course he is, of course he's just fine and he's not _angry_ or something of the like because he realizes that maybe Shizu-chan isn't counting the scars on his arm for a reason and _guilt_ is no reason to act like he has something to be sorry for. Which he doesn't, not as Shizuo ties on another set of white strips and Izaya feels the burn singeing his tongue when he doesn't say it the first night the new marks are still a little bloody and he can feel the bandages stick to them.

If all it takes is a broken piece of an old mirror near the toilet and Shizuo's newly found silence to make him act like this—turn this far into _insanity_ (which is where he's been for the longest while, never really anywhere else but _waiting_ for something else) when he watches Shizu-chan too carefully and too closely to not appear like anything other than an overly cautious idiot. It only sours his mood as the next days of the week slip through his fingers and even without board games and eating disgusting food (well, it's not the greatest) he still feels like there's something that's too much, it doesn't belong—which is how he finds his fingers tracing over the new marks and once in Shizuo's plain sight.

None of this means he's considering forgiving the beast for anything. It's Shizu-chan's responsibility to do whatever the hell it is monsters do when they're not pushing him around and maybe his mind is a little quieter from the constant onslaught of feeling too much whenever Shizu-chan picks a fight with him. But the silence allows more to sink in, feeding off the comfort of knowing he's too alone and he's still in a monster's den and that fact alone keeps the anxiety pills he hasn't been taking from working. The stupid things are useless—baseless opinions from a crack doctor on how to fix himself and while he's still bitter, like the chemicals will make his brain behave when they haven't done a damn thing at all and he remembers some offhand comment that Shizuo's supposed to make sure he takes those things twice a day.

All of this is confusing. Frustrating, agonizing to wait through, a mess of murky thoughts waters rising up high thinking he's going to drown in a bath tub or from the looks that Shizu-chan gives him whenever they talk—empty and full and staring he can't think and he's too tired to consider what symbolism is left in dealing with a stupid beast. He doesn't like the old side of Shizu-chan, but he's not sure what will settle in his brain as supposedly better than the previous treatment of being tossed around like a rag doll that chokes his throat and cuts his brain to ribbons while he hears the laughter in his head, mocking and ringing and ever so full of how angry he should be.

Which leads him to sitting at the table, moved from the couch (with his hatred of the damned wheelchair fully within Shizu-chan's awareness) and then gently set down at a chair—with a _cushion—_ he watches, boredly impatient as Shizu-chan makes something for the both of them, already unappetizing because dinner is something he'd rather not partake in. It gives him too much time to think, coming to the train of thought questioning if Shizu-chan knows exactly what he's doing while Izaya's stomach decides to burn and itch, lunch never settling well and he won't get started on the change that's coming over his legs, arms, making him feel too big and taking up too much air before he starts choking on it.

Unfortunately for him, Shizu-chan finishes with a low hum under his breath and Izaya's not heard it until now, preferring to ignore everything else while his mood plummets and the effects of not being on those stupid anxiety pills are just in his head, just like everything else and he's waiting for Shizu-chan to snap and then snap him in half—except he's not slept at all, not with panic attacks in the form of nightmares keep him awake in an empty bedroom. The ceiling has been long accustomed to his hazy stares, trying to avoid the shadows that creep up and claw at him when he's not looking. And he'll never know if he makes any noise—the typical screaming only happens rarely, and _once_ during a nap on the couch which makes Shizu-chan more cautious around him. But even with the argument before ending in too many things to deal with that Izaya remembers all too clearly, he's not convinced with whatever the monster decides to spout and pretend it has meaning.

No, he can't trust that. Believing a monster—it's foolish and the last time he did was the last time he had any control over himself.

"Izaya," Shizu-chan interrupts, brown eyes moving over him curiously and Izaya hisses a curse under his breath when he realizes that the brute has seen him unguarded yet again. "Dinner." Soon enough there's a hot plate of cooked vegetables in front of him, no gleaming shiny traces of oil and it's enough to put off at least one strand of the burning thoughts that inch and worm into his skull, bouncing all around and his hands feel wet and dry with a burn of not wanting to touch what's in front of him. The meat is far away from him, near to Shizuo who sits on the other side and still too close because he can smell it and immediately his stomach starts churning. As if it's already not bad enough with the low growl of contempt, frustration seething in his veins as he grinds his teeth and refuses to spare the steaming plate another glance—he doesn't care if Shizu-chan made it for him. He knows what happens as soon as the taste hits his mouth.

The thoughts will start, with the hissing and spitting of insults down to slurs and the screaming that echoes in his ears, body on fire veins flushing with intoxication and poison in bitter tastes seeping over his tongue as fat dissolves and he'll grow even bigger and swell until he bursts. He's not supposed to care that Shizu-chan made this for him because he picks meals with this apathetic appeal that means he's never going to be able to eat it, not without choking it down pricking at his eyes feeling like he's going to die just from one bite of food and meanwhile the stupid beast watches it all, probably making fun of him when he stares across the table and Izaya's still caught up in the choking spasms that catch his fingers and wring them wet with agonizing anticipation.

"You okay?" Shizuo swallows another larger bite, not having started on his dinner much when he's been watching Izaya—eyes widening and scowl deepening to a frown that remains and the feeling is unsettling. Immediately Izaya's eyes are on him and they're watching him too sharply to be okay and there's probably something wrong but he can't overstep the boundaries he's done more than enough and when Izaya watches him like this it's incriminating to think that maybe he's done something wrong when he notices one of Izaya's habits—an arm coming around his stomach—taking form with the hunch of shoulders and the telltale flush of looking nauseous and disgusted.

Shizuo tries—he really does and he doesn't ever know what he's doing so it's supposedly good enough that he tries to watch Izaya when he won't look at the food, even if it's just vegetables and he feels a ghost of a surge of anger, knowing his old habits of getting frustrated whenever Izaya would have one of his "episodes". This one is just like the others every time before and after he eats, written with disgust and nausea rising up to choke his throat and keep him angry—cornered and sipping water to clear the taste from his mouth as he waits for an hour before he can brush his teeth. It's only to make sure he doesn't make himself sick, try to keep him reined in back to reality where he clutches his stomach and can't stop thinking of every single ingredient in the food.

"You don't have to eat that much if you don't want to." Shizuo surprises himself—quick to notice Izaya's sudden change of gaze to him after wandering away again, the dark look on his face one that Shizuo's seen too many times and it still tightens in the pit of his stomach with this sinking empty feeling that there's something going on he has no idea how to handle. "Just a couple bites. C'mon, you have to eat something." Now is _not_ the time to mention any hint of anger, watching Izaya pick at it with disgust and it must be his favorite expression when he uses it so often whenever he has to eat. Shizuo doesn't really understand though, not at all and knowing he doesn't can't wouldn't understand and Izaya leaves him cold to guessing what's wrong. He's been trying hard this week to keep himself in check and it's been working but with the same expression of frustration on Izaya's face he can't always keep it to himself that he's frustrated with not knowing.

Izaya's gaze turns into an icy glare, ignoring the burn in his stomach of bile and nausea salting the back of his throat once again and his thoughts are—everywhere and all over drilling bouncing creeping sinking in—too much to listen to all at once. "Not interested, Shizu-chan." And it's clear the second it leaves his mouth his lips seal tightly and he has the urge to slap a hand over his mouth, knowing the look of rage that crosses Shizu-chan's face and he can't help that stupid little thread that laughs and informs him haughtily that he's _right it's all just a lie_ and Shizu-chan doesn't mean _anything_ but he would rather not be tossed to the floor like a rag doll.

Instead of the first thing he does as reaching out for Izaya or kicking him in the leg, Shizuo sighs laced with a growl, shaking his head and swallowing thickly—as if he has any idea what Izaya goes through just _talking_ about the gruel that is food. "What don't you like about it? You picked this." It's probably not the right question and judging by how Izaya curls in on himself tighter then continues glaring, pushing the plate away with a defiant look in his eyes but Shizuo knows how closely the flea is watching him, fight or flight and its abridged version to stick in the salty black tar of not knowing and not being capable of defending himself if Shizuo rises to his anger.

Only Izaya shakes his head, lips pursing tight and breaks his gaze away when Shizuo watches him carefully, tightening his fingers in his thigh and reminding himself what the hell he's doing and he can't get mad not when he's been trying this hard to behave himself and with a purpose because he's going to be fucking annoyed if he fucks this up. Seeing as trying to get an answer from Izaya is pointless (he knows this from too many times of having this argument, from not being hungry to just too full from the last meal when he's barely eaten anything) and so he'll have to figure this out, mainly because he wants to know and Izaya keeping this from him isn't going to help with the eating disorder they don't talk about.

"Oi," Shizuo starts, pushing his plate away from himself and continuing even if Izaya isn't looking at him. Probably expecting the worst, which makes a bitter ache start to form in Shizuo's throat that spreads down to his chest in a grip that tightens with the passing seconds of silence and trying not to break what he's built. It sounds like _don't don't don't don't hurt me—_ stop, stop that. "I wanted to talk to you about something. And the first part is about you eating." Izaya's eyes snap to his and there's that same look of _fear_ or maybe he's just blind and it could be anger but he knows that hollow look that sinks in and thuds into the squishy organs that aren't protected by thick muscle and he'll have to take a stab at trying this—meaning _tread carefully._

"So, let's have an agreement, flea." Listening with that impatience of wanting to leave and wanting to be as far away as possible and anywhere but here—those stop signs for eyes are on him and he gathers himself enough to continue the idea he's been tossing around in the past couple of days. How Izaya takes to it, he doesn't know. "I won't touch you to hurt you. I'm not gonna do that, because that's bullshit and you know how stupid it is. Getting mad at you only gets you mad and it doesn't solve shit, so I'll keep my hands off of you if I get angry. Okay?" Waiting for a slight nod to continue, he feels a little breathless and a little confident because Izaya's listening and this is the farthest they've ever gotten to having a civil conversation with each other. "But in return, you have to tell me things. When you're mad at me, upset, anything. And I know you'll hate me for it anyway, but that's the only way I'm gonna be able to help you, 'cause I don't have any idea what you're thinking."

Maybe one of those things isn't true—most of the time. Izaya doesn't need to know because he's always been as open as a book and Shizuo wonders if that's intentional or not because he's betting money on the idea Izaya has no idea that he can be read even when he's trying to be sneaky. "Like right now. You don't want to eat, why? And not because you're not hungry, Shinra says that's the disorder telling you you're not. But like why don't you want to eat the vegetables, even if you watched me cook them?" He's intrusive and probably obnoxious and judging by the fingers tightening into the hem of a borrowed shirt then he's probably too up close and personal—except it's for the good of trying to keep whatever this is of a good relationship if it can even be called that he doesn't know—Izaya won't have to like it. He just has to agree to this.

"What stupid idea turned into that?" Izaya growls, feeling too vulnerable at the table like this and he knows it's always a bad idea to be anywhere near Shizu-chan and he can't stop the thoughts, the hissing and spitting and the frustration sinking its nails deep into clawing motions that scrape his brain and the back of his throat, dancing down his spine in a freezing chill. "I'm not going to have therapy with a protozoan because you think you have some smart idea to pretend you have any idea how to deal with..." it stops because his lips are burning and his tongue feels dry in his mouth and he wants to be done with this because nausea is creeping up high into his throat and shaking his head is the only way to pretend that he's fine when it burns and feels like lead cooling in his stomach.

"That's why." Shizuo picks up his chopsticks again, swallowing some more down and it's not bad at all, not when he's been practicing with Celty over the phone and he thinks he's doing better than he ever has been. "'Cause I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. I know it's awkward and shit like that, but you just have to tell me why something is bothering you." Izaya picks at the food with his chopsticks while he thinks this over and it's clear that he's frustrated more with the food than Shizuo, Shizuo thinking that there's got to be something wrong if Izaya's angry enough to stab through vegetables as they sit innocently on his plate. He has a vague sort of idea with the distaste Izaya shows, combined with the nausea and it's kind of scary to see the effects a mental disease has on the once proud informant who probably wouldn't be fazed by the idea of eating vegetables for dinner.

"'Awkward and shit like that'," Izaya grumbles, eyes clear with building rage, "does not even _begin_ to define it. Maybe Shizu-chan should try not rubbing your brain cell together so hard when it comes to actually thinking, because how would you know what it's like to be sick to your stomach when you have to eat? Tasteless garbage that only makes you want to vomit your organs into pretty little ribbons, why don't _you_ try it and tell me how it is." And then there's silence because Izaya's still stabbing the damn vegetables and Shizuo's kind of in this state of disbelief, not knowing how to put two and two together and make sense of why Izaya would feel that horrible, just looking at the food and disgusted but it explains too much and it's also just a bit too much to swallow.

While he deliberates, Izaya's quiet and it's clear he's thinking something over and he huffs, forcing a bite of food into his mouth with what looks like the most disgusted look Shizuo has ever seen from him, chewing in robotic movements and eyes tightening with the cringe of frustration that burns deep into his throat while he forces another couple of swallows of food. Each takes longer than the last to get down, Shizuo watching Izaya's shoulders trembling while he grazes on his food with his appetite lost, picturing far too much for his own good and he doesn't get how Izaya can deal with that, even if he's a sick bastard, because forcing food down his throat means it's got to be worse than what Shizuo can imagine.

For some reason, it makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. But as he gets up it's still there, eyes glued to watching Izaya struggle through chewing and swallowing when it just won't go down and he's obviously frustrated and irritated and nothing's helping, not the water he keeps drinking and the swallows that sound like he's being choked to death by his own hands.

He really shouldn't be thinking of it and it's clear that it still lingers in the back of his mind, pushed back when Izaya looks up at him as his bowl is taken from right in front of him and added to the small stack of dirty dishes. Even then he looks nauseous, revulsion coloring his skin pale and even a pale green, only faint enough to notice from the look in his eyes that he's not enjoying this at all. The surprise that lights up his eyes is only short-lived while Shizuo turns, taking the dishes to the sink and dumping them to do for later when he's done with this. He's not about to let this chance slip, not as he finishes cleaning off the table with a second sweep and then he's at the freezer, hearing Izaya swallow mouthfuls of water with a grimace to himself.

Two bowls from the cabinet above his head come down, one red and the other blue and he finds it almost fitting, mainly distracted from any sort of other thoughts than watching Izaya choke down food like the time he was forcefed and the other times where Shizuo's forced him to keep eating—he shakes his head again, unsuccessful in dismissing the repetition of contempt. But with two spoons in hand he scoops cold vanilla ice cream from its container, small portions in the bowls before it's put away and Shizuo comes back to the table, pushing the red bowl to Izaya and taking the blue bowl with a couple scoops more for himself.

"If you can't stomach it, don't eat it." Shizuo says, taking a spoonful of ice cream and Izaya gives him this look which is a mix of incredulous and confused, much better than the permanent scowl he constantly wears and Shizuo can see the exhaustion setting into his features, meaning he's not the only one who hasn't gotten sleep recently. "There's no point in eating what makes you sick. So if we're gonna be eating together, you have to tell me what you like and don't like, or else you're going to be even more miserable."

Izaya's quiet, reflecting Shizuo's own tiredness while he leans his head on his free hand, deliberating as he stares into the bowl of vanilla and a string of curses or other foul things brewing in his head come to mind. He doesn't have half the mind to voice them, eyes flickering to Shizuo devouring his bowl with the finesse of an idiotic monster, not caring if Izaya's watching or just not noticing. But soon enough Shizu-chan is back to looking at him, not with any stern look and it's strange to watch a monster that isn't angry at him when he should be, always is and the break in pattern makes him more antsy than usual.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do, Izaya." Shizuo finally mumbles, voice growing a little louder when Izaya tilts his head back up and ignores the wave of nausea rattling through his bones and clenching his jaw tightly. "I don't want to hurt you when you're already down." He sounds so _sincere_ it's (frustrating confusing stupid ridiculous why would he _care_ about someone like _him_ ) exhausting just to hear when he thinks he's been fine this whole week, putting himself back together after that incident from earlier and never finding the White Queen and he's not about to go look for her now when she's lost her throne and he's lost his too. He doesn't _need_ pity—not from a monster. Not with the gun tipped back and his jaw tilted up, waiting for the click and reload because he can do this a second time without another one holding the gun.

"Ah, does Shizu-chan care about me?" Izaya picks up the spoon and stabs it through the slowly melting ice cream, never having a taste for sweet things and the idiot probably knows this which isn't helping his appeal of trying to be something he's not. It irks him, rubs sandpaper under his skin pulls his fingernails under the nail beds does everything it can to make him frustrated and uncomfortable and he's already sick with vegetables and maybe Shizu-chan just has a horrible sense of humor and refusing to let Izaya die without suffering. "How sweet," he doesn't sound like it is.

"I'm just trying to not fuck up anymore." Shizuo retorts, but he turns his head away before Izaya can ask if he thinks he sees what he just did—probably just a trick of the light and it won't mean much if the beast polishes off his ice cream, standing to go put the bowl in the sink like he's the one in charge of the game they're playing. With Izaya being a part of it, that simply won't do for the pawns that have already been knocked over and he may as well be on his last legs but he's not about to give in to this kind of game just because Shizu-chan tries to be so dumb and sincere that it stings his throat and rubs it raw. But Shizu-chan doesn't know when to quit, not when he comes close to Izaya's as he leans over, too close for a monster to just be teasing him now.

"Tell me to stop," he suddenly says, and it sounds like he's in pain with those dumb brown eyes of his that come to Izaya's. "And I will. But if you don't..." Izaya doesn't suppose he knows what the dumb brute is thinking, not as his fingers are working against him and a spoon comes up to his lips with the smallest scoop of ice cream he's ever attempted and it's cold and sweet against his lips, sliding in with this sort of defeat and numb sensation as he does because Shizu-chan is only messing with him, telling him stupid things he doesn't really mean and it's just a joke and he's only trying to annoy him and get him to eat the stupid thing because it's his job to care.

Not for money—not a job.

But when he glances back up at Shizuo to make some sort of bitter retort, he doesn't have a moment to question when or how or why but the next thing he knows is the taste of cold sweet vanilla and warm lips pressing to his in a slow, gentle caress. He's not thinking at all, not feeling not seeing anything and he's certainly not at fault if he's frozen in place from the lick of ice cream down his throat now at his spine and the cold that captures his lips or for not noticing the hand that comes down on the table near his, steadying a monster. Who happens to be _kissing_ him with the undefined grace of a monster and possibly more idiotic than previously believed.

What should be concerning is that Izaya hasn't pushed him away, despite the shudder down his spine knowing there's something so very wrong about this and yet he's not doing anything as the kiss stays in place, just nuzzling against his lips like it's supposed to have meaning and not taste like bitter irony and arguments.

He can't think—can't—

"Now we're even," Shizu-chan says against his lips and Izaya barely hears it over the buzz of every thought having a meltdown.

What he does know is that the lips brushing against his are very real and impossible to be imagining. No matter how much he wants to deny it.

It's just not fair to play the game like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible and I know it, so no need to let me know, you poor depraved readers. Don't worry, I sweetened the deal at the end, ne? Well, I wrote this in three hours because distraction and I go hand in hand, but otherwise at least I got this done! Thank you all for sticking with this so far and it's always going to be a bumpy ride, so have fun and or jump ship. Either is fine with me~
> 
> Now to Tedious, POI, and a whole lot of smut. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. ꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡


	17. Slow Motions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Shizuo can't think, he starts to realize it's better than the alternative.

_~_

 

_...I wouldn't consider myself addicted to you. Obsessed, that's another story._

  
Finally, after an hour of listening to Izaya's snippy commentary (it's a _television show_ not reality damn it) Shizuo notices Izaya's head falling into his lap, the pillow perched against his thigh slithering in between the couch cushions. In its narrow escape, Shizuo's fingers accidentally brush against Izaya's hair as he reaches for it, giving meaning to a slow withdrawal. Though as he hesitates, he fingers the soft strands, freshly washed earlier this morning after enough bickering for the two of them instead of Izaya taking that time to bathe. It's not his fault, Shizuo decides and Izaya couldn't care at all to hear his argument—he just likes to argue. Something that's more than just apparent, especially when Izaya spends more time trying to piss him off than getting his leg and arm covered so he can get a bath.

Doubt lingers in his eyes—Shizuo catches them after carefully rubbing Izaya's hair with a towel—the reflection in the mirror showing the hazy-eyed look of staring at the floor, the same spot for something Shizuo can't possibly guess. With the days passing Shizuo still isn't sure of everything Izaya does, finding himself more and more attuned to meaningless details without his notice.

Izaya breathes a short sigh as Shizuo passes his fingers through his hair, legs comfortably propped on the couch while Shizuo sits at one end with the remote resting on the couch arm. It's an awkward fit, having to accommodate for Izaya's broken arm and leg on the couch after a rousing game of chess and Izaya still cheats like the bastard he is. At least it makes him tired enough to start napping wherever, another thing Shizuo's noticed from the days leading up to now, three weeks into taking care of him. So far today hasn't been stretched tight with arguments, rather just the two of them playing stupid board games and Izaya making snappy comments whenever he just _has_ to deal with Shizuo's supposed stupidity.

Yeah, still an asshole.

When he withdraws his fingers, the sound of his phone chiming from his pocket brings itself to his attention, causing an almost hurried dig for his phone in the confines of his pants. Izaya stirs, only a little, before sighing and settling once again. Moments like this—outside of aggressively trying to not break his phone as he wrangles it from his pocket—are short ones with the fuel of gasoline and a lit match, simply made in short before either all hell breaks loose or neither of them know what they're doing anymore.

"Yeah?" Shizuo stifles a swear, fingers tightening on his phone where the plastic starts to groan from the brute force. There's some crackling on the line and his eyes narrow, hearing his phone groan and squeak from plastic starting to cave in, much like his resolve to stay patient. But if he breaks this phone he'll never hear the end of it, especially from Tom-san and the disappointed shake of his head when he doesn't ask.

The moment he hears a voice, not one he's heard all that much, he stops cold. One part of him, some slow tuck of a shiver into his spine that catches hard in his throat in a grimly similar way Izaya hates eating breakfast and choking it down. Oh hell, now he's thinking the same stupid things—and it's all in just one fraction of a second he hears the voice from the other line.

" _Heiwajima-san, it's been quite some time since we last spoke."_

Shizuo can hear the squeal of plastic breaking, feeling the fissures of cracks beneath his fingertips as his eyes slide over to Izaya and he doesn't remember why he would in the first place. His teeth grind like breaking down a skyscraper. Maybe shattering bone into splinters the same way Izaya's leg snaps under pressure. Concrete is about as strong as bone, a little weaker, just like his patience that has evaporated under the rising temperature of his blood starting to seethe.

"And I thought it would be the last," Shizuo manages to strain through his teeth, keeping his voice as low as he can. It's much harder than expected, of course with his skin prickling with a rush of adrenaline and knowing if he wakes up Izaya it'll be a lot harder to keep a lid on what he'd rather say. Needless to mention their last meeting—as much as he would rather not remember—had the same tone much like the one Shiki speaks to him with now. And it makes his fucking skin crawl. "What d'ya want this time?"

The sigh isn't convincing when it slithers through the phone. There's nothing to be afraid of. _"I only meant to inquire as to how Orihara-san is faring, as Kishitani-sensei didn't have much to offer when I spoke with him_ _earlier_ _."_ There's a pause, tense and tight but Shiki is cool and even, his tone impeccably aloof, but Shizuo knows him better than that, unfortunately, and he doubts Izaya knows most of it, nosy as he is. _"I would prefer to take the time to remind you, Shizuo-san, that I am the one who is paying for the medical expenses, as well as the one who requested you to take care of him. Do you not remember the agreement we had?"_

"You mean blackmail," Shizuo growls low, but if he pushes it too far he doesn't want to know what Shiki will do. Taming the beast, one letter at a time that slips through his teeth.

" _No,"_ the interruption is curt, to the point. Strict. _"You and I both know better than to believe that. As favorable as my opinion is of you, I suggest you don't attempt to tamper it."_

(Sometimes he catches himself in his own shit.)

This one he can't seem to be able to claw his way out of. No matter the method, he knows the voice on the other end isn't just for fun and it isn't for a courtesy call. So long as he remains unable to speak his mind in favor of— _"Regardless, it's not my intention to anger you. How is Orihara-san doing? From what I've heard, he's still in one piece."_

Shizuo counts his breaths, in the same annoying voice that Shinra uses when he tries and fails to stop him from breaking everything. One, two, four, _fuck it_ and it's just not working. There's no reason, no meaning behind one check-in, like a guardian watching over two teenagers who are either attempting to kill each other or destroying things. Two grown teenagers, and he bets Shiki must find it hilariously amusing how Shizuo has managed to keep himself calm, despite the conflict of not being able to express his own fucking irritating thoughts. "The _flea_ isn't blowing his mouth off with stupid stuff, so he's just fine." _Fine_ is an understatement, but it's the best thing that comes to mind at the top of his head and in the middle of catching himself watching Izaya sleep—it's just too damn creepy, whatever tricks his brain is playing on him.

A hand runs through his hair while his phone squeals in protest and he's sure there's blood coming from his hairline. Oh well. "Still cheats at chess, mouthy when he's awake, and hogs the couch."

A laugh settles the wrong way, more like a chuckle with either strained enthusiasm or he's good at getting what he wants—both, as far as Shizuo knows. _"He's asleep? I never thought I'd hear of the great Orihara-san sleeping the day away, but then again, he hasn't been much of himself in quite some time."_ As smooth of a talker he is, not as bad as Izaya can be in his best moments, he has an interesting knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or perhaps it's more according to what he cares to listen to. _"I had half the mind to speak with him, but now after talking with you, I realize it's a conversation for another time."_ His voice is strong as it is dizzying, recounting where to not think he's saying something else—another trait of Izaya's, damn it—with every word that comes through the receiver.

Until he realizes that no matter what he does, Shiki can still play him blind. (Just like Izaya does, but that's a different story, maybe.)

" _That's enough for now, Heiwajima-san,"_ smooth as glass and just as sharp, Shizuo narrows his eyes at the thought of it. Veiled meanings, words put together in ways they're not meant to be spoken in the same manner—they're all things he hates, because if people could just be blunt he wouldn't have to feel like his skin is crawling with disgust. Even though it's only Shiki, the same one who knows more than enough from mere _observation_ than what Izaya could haphazardly guess, he still doesn't like the feeling it creates. _"I apologize for taking up your time, but I'm impressed that you've managed this far. Don't forget it, now."_

"Sure," he says, if only to fill the space in between the jumble of mixed tensions rising in his head. The moment it comes out he's sure to regret it, because there's no need to add fuel to the fire raging through the groaning plastic of his phone where he's vaguely aware of a shard sticking out of his head. "Anything else?" Straight to the point, just to get this over with, and maybe just a little too terse for the neutrality that sounds far too fair in his head.

" _No, thank you, Heiwajima-san."_ Polite to a point, a businessman in the front of just a friendly conversation. He should know better that Shizuo's no good at those, much less formalities. _"A pleasure doing business with you."_

 _Clearly just for you,_ his brain hisses, working on overdrive just to keep his phone still functional despite the fate it has resigned itself to within the palm of his hand. Cracking and bleeding, much like his resolve to stay as punctual as Shiki expects—only not for him, more to prove something that's probably not worth it. By the time his teeth catch on his tongue and bite hard just to keep himself in check, the phone clicks, and the dial tone hums in his ears like a cacophony of Shiki's voice repeating the same words over and over.

_A pleasure doing business with you._

And he'll be damned if his luck doesn't just run out right after he snaps his phone shut and reaches for the plastic embedded in the skin just below his temple. "Who was that?"

Izaya sounds nasal, hazy and Shizuo doesn't have to spare him a glance to feel his eyes on him, waiting for an answer. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Shizu-chan, did your brother pay her to talk to you?" The first taunt comes easy, waiting for the bait and switch that he's too fucking good at, Izaya's a fucking devil in disguise and why he's sleeping on Shizuo's couch is currently unknown and best that Shizuo doesn't question his sanity further. He knows it's down the drain, wherever it went with all of that blood from such a small body in some street drain.

Shizuo heaves a sigh, craving a smoke or twelve packs and he knows Izaya's going to snatch them if he dares now. "Fuck off, flea." Honestly, why couldn't he have just stayed asleep? "That Shiki guy decided to congratulate you on not being as much of a pest."

Izaya's eyes are wide, narrowing only hastened moments after and his voice drops low, losing all traces of anything Izaya might have fooled Shizuo into believing he was. Everything about him is tense and tight and for once Shizuo can't stand the thought of dealing with any more of his own bullshit when he can't call what he sees. It's not like it matters in the first place, because Izaya is a stiff and angry force where his glare is venomous and his gaze is far too critical for Shizuo's liking. Staying still under the heated gaze only makes him want to squirm, because his skin is itching like the pest's hands are crawling all over him—reaching for his throat, no doubt.

"You knew who he was from the beginning," Izaya accuses, straight to the point, which isn't usual in this sort of routine. "Didn't you, Shizu-chan?" His voice holds a tremor that reminds Shizuo of a sliver of the time before, and he knows they're heading down a dark road with no way back in sight. As he gathers himself on the couch, struggling with managing to pull himself up on one arm, the strong taste of disappointment doesn't leave the catch in his scowl. He's up in record time, even if his arm tremors under the strain of using it so quickly—his eyes are darker than Shizuo recalls them, and the light from them has fled.

"What's it to you?" Shizuo rolls his eyes, itching for something to break in between his fingers. But as soon as the imagery of fine china like bone and flesh slithers its way into his mind, it only puts him off even more. "You know him more than I do, 's'not like it's the end of the world because he wanted to talk to me _instead_ of you." Too bad he can't catch himself on tripping over really stupid things, because this takes the cake and— _damn it—_ he's gone and done it again with some new discovery of apathy for whether or not every word out of his mouth is offensive.

Double meanings and that—on a fucking roller coaster with no way to stop these highs and lows that surely don't just take Izaya and shake every last meaning of what it was to be the fucking _flea._

"Surely," Izaya drawls, his eyes never moving as they watch Shizuo get up from the couch and fight with himself on whether to just end this or deal with it now. Izaya is unreadable now, from either coldly calculating to anger—directed to whom he doesn't even know. If this is an argument it's not built to last, dying out like the surge of anger in Izaya's voice when he's trying to be angry at something—just to be angry because he can be. Be it breaking bones and fingers in his hand or smashing every goddamn last piece of sense he has, just to try and get the flea's motives, it just makes his head spin too fast and catches him hard. "If he actually meant to speak with you, then you know it's for more than checking up on me," his voice is strained, dragging on the gravel in his voice. His head moves from side to side, conveying his cutting-edge disgust. "I wouldn't do that, Shizu-chan."

Fucking _double meanings—_ "Do what, let that shady guy know you're fine? You already know he's paying for your medical bills." Shizuo knows better than to let it get the best of him, to deal with any incoming temper tantrums because fuck, Izaya's so fucking irritating sometimes it makes him want—to know better than succumbing to temptation. However the hell it's supposed to happen, when they're three weeks into something that should've never happened.

And his mind whispers in the back of his head, interrupting Izaya and whatever he wants to get angry for, whatever reminds Shizuo to sit back down and _stop_ before his own dilapidated senses fuck with him any more and cause him another mess on his hands. It's just that Shiki and the way he speaks, cool and calm and everything Shizuo is _not_ (unfair, crime shouldn't sound so welcoming) in favor of playing them like chess pieces. Across the board, skittering off and rolling onto the floor to discard the notion that none of them ever play by the rules, not now and not back when Izaya was Izaya and Shizuo didn't give much thought to the reasons why he'd keep himself up at night instead of choosing which space to move to, which battlefield to conquer next.

Izaya'd never allow such things.

This is—red eyes, narrowed and mouth set in a tight line waiting— _not_ Izaya. _Get it through your fucking skull._

"You want to play that little game of yours, go ahead." Izaya starts, distaste in the venom he spits and churns in a bitter display of a living contradiction. "Your life is your own, Shizu-chan." Only when Shizuo means to interrupt, to try and defuse this ticking time bomb of an apocalyptic informant and the trigger switch that is Shiki and his unaffected observance. "Stay out of _mine._ "

The silence never gets a chance. "Do you even know what you're saying, flea?" Shizuo grunts, teeth setting in a line that's dangerously close to comparing Izaya to Shiki and finding himself with the wish he'd never even met either of them. "'Stay out of your life'? What the hell do you call this, then?" No, no—Shizuo sighs, shaking his head when Izaya shoots him a withering stare, fingers curling into the material of the couch in a way Shizuo never could without ripping the seams apart, but he seems to be doing that to his own patience instead.

"A cruel joke," Izaya spits, and it stings even though Shizuo knew it was coming. The bastard must be holding his tongue, restraining from going the extra mile just to make something scald Shizuo like a brand. Make him furiously angry, just to know he can like all these arguments play out except this time is a path down a different trail.

"Fine, fine," he strangles a hiss, running his hands through his hair—he's going to go bald before his next birthday at this rate. "All he wanted was to know if I hadn't killed you. Not like I'm waiting to just talk to the yakuza all damn day." When Izaya's still not convinced he stifles a heavy sigh, thoroughly intent on throwing out all damn sense he has and just calling it quits to this game he inadvertently signed himself up to play too many damn times. He doesn't throw his hands up in surrender—they never play like that. It's always teeth at throats until one of them breathes in the wrong time, and then there's blood everywhere.

A helpful little light, like a street light, brightens up a street stained with blood, oozing down the storm drain while steam rises with a cruel beckon the way it curls and evaporates into the air.

Izaya isn't angry. But he's not happy. And when he opens his mouth to say something he stays too quiet, shakes his head like he's defeated and this isn't supposed to be some war, but here they are again, and he simply averts his gaze to the floor. There's a quality to him that keeps getting in the place of what the real Izaya would do, instead of giving up and acting like a wounded animal he'd bite back just as hard when Shizuo so much as throws a stick in his general direction. This time it's not a skyscraper meaning lesser impact, but it doesn't take away the fact he keeps thinking in circles of—the _real Izaya—_ and with a sense of thinking like that, he's never going to realize the supposedly real Izaya is the same one picking at the bandages of his right arm.

 _Fucking crazy,_ but his frustration has him avoid taking it any further, and his pride, whatever the hell is left of it, is a twisted, distorted thing.

The times before he had these doubts—constant, consistent things really—were much simpler.

And it's all his fault.

~

Shinra strolls through the door, back from another client call when he sees his darling, beautifully enchanting Celty beside herself, focused on her phone as she shrugs against the back of a chair by the countertop. "Who is my darling talking to?" Shinra calls, finding the scene poetic—although Celty is on her own, beauty and grace—but somewhat troubling. He calls it on the fact she's not texting him, which still doesn't negate the unease.

[Shizuo, he says Izaya's doing better. Hey, could we—] Before he can read the rest of what she types his phone chimes, an unfamiliar one until he remembers that even with the declining business, someone still has reason to call. But he still digs out his phone, throwing a quick apology to his darling Celty while she seems to stiffen, drawing further away from him and it's a worrying thought, but pressed into the creases of his subconscious while he fingers his phone and pulls it into his hands.

The text has him frowning the moment he catches a glimpse of the first word—not something his radiant Celty would want to hear, since she doesn't seem to like the mention of Aka (as much as he wishes, almost hopelessly so, that it's strictly jealousy)—and he reads it over once in silence. He always catches the typing from Celty whenever his dearest makes any attempt to speak to him, humbling as it is, but this time he can't help but pull a sheepish smile, feeling even worse when he has to excuse himself from their conversation.

"Sorry about this, my darling," he tries, stopping Celty in the middle of her typing and he's sure it's not too important, but then everything she says is important to him. "Just give me a minute, I've got to call someone." Looking out the balcony doors the sun's already beginning to set, the ending timer on their conversation and it's nothing to worry about when she stops typing then and there. Nothing at all, Shinra convinces himself she'll be eager to talk to him soon, but work always manages to worm its way into their most private conversations.

It's all fine, just a little quiet tension from a day's work and no Celty—until she lifts her PDA, and the smoke from her neck is rigidly tying itself into knots. [That doctor friend of yours, isn't it.]

In all the conversations they've had that have bordered on tense to the sort of rigidity that Shinra hates because fighting isn't his forte and Celty's feelings are too precious to him, they've never come so close as the sense of something very wrong in her words. Just looking at her, her shoulders straightened and her body language, all cut off from him he can sense the danger that's there, poised and ready to strike. And it's an even longer time it takes for him to swallow, to feign some sort of ignorance in the hopes it'll make her happy, he doesn't understand her this once and that is _terrifying_ because Celty, precious, lovely Celty, so sweet and beautiful and _angry_ is never more than annoyed at him.

It all changes when he tries to ask. Perhaps he should've never tempted such fate. "Ah, so it happens to be, but it's just for a quick thing—what do you mean?" His head cocks, an itch to readjust his glasses because Celty is already up and out of her chair, a typed message flying across her fingers and in his face in the three seconds it takes for her to disappear out the door with Shooter. By the first second he's barely read the words, quick and so meaningless out of context and the sinking feeling doesn't fade. It aches, in a terrible sort of way that he knows something's up and despite the fact they haven't seen each other much, it's something that they both know is too much of a given.

[I'm busy. See you later.]

Harsh, straight to the point, and bluntly boring its way past his eyes and straight into the back of his brain. The kind of impact that would have one gasping, choking for air because so many questions are summoned by such a careless little action that is more than just unplanned but in the point it goes too deep too quickly and there's nothing but empty, empty air. Psychological, only in the fact that the only form of communication they seem to be able to reach is somewhere between the almost familiar conversations they used to have and some form of shameful awkwardness that comes when Shinra is gone more and more and Celty seems so withdrawn.

The best he manages to choke out of his stolen air, crushed windpipes just as badly bruised as his ego, doesn't come out than more than a barely-there type of confused noise.

"Celty…?"

Another text message chimes on his phone and he's not sure what the time is, but the sun is setting. In his hand, his phone vibrates a little, just a mere shiver that isn't the usual alert he has on, but it may just be fatigue settling in. Something curable by Celty, _usually,_ but things are different and it's all too sudden he now starts to notice that.

Then there comes a sense of loss, like missing something crucial right in front of him and he can't place it, but then it's gone and over with by the sound of Shooter's hum down the streets, down that fast and gone even sooner. Shinra glances at his phone, not really reading what's there as his mind swarms with questions, concerns, whether or not he should call Celty or perhaps it's just him and the fact he's exhausted from dealing with the recent weeks and the things they've sprung on him.

Bleakly, he wonders if Izaya finds having no phone is far better than being too informed.

~

He's supposed to be up making dinner for the two of them, not sitting here, another game of chess with different rules, somewhat of the same concept, and Izaya sleeping on his shoulder. Personally he doesn't really remember how it started, other than trying to take Izaya out of the apartment after he complained of a headache and Shizuo vaguely finds himself agreeing, but that may be more of Izaya's fault that it usually is. Nevertheless Izaya protests, and keeps protesting until he swallows his damn pills and then still proclaims he doesn't want anything to do with going outside. After such a sudden change of heart Shizuo thinks it's just the bastard pulling his leg off and beating him with it, but then he just kind of...ended up like this, probably one of the side effects of being a dick as an occupation.

And then Izaya sleeping against him, probably drooling on his shoulder just to piss him off, is an occupational hazard. First it starts with the warning signs, of complaining and then Shizuo remembers the silence, not too interested because there's a pounding ache behind his eyes and he wonders if it's the lack of sleep until he notices Izaya's weight against him for some strange reason. And if it's beyond him, then that's only for him to know because he's not actively shoving the moron off, for reasons again not meant to be explained, but possibly excused when he gets a text from Celty.

 _[Did he actually let you win at chess?]_ His face makes a weird contorted smile, somewhat of a grimace and a laugh that's too small to make a lasting impression. She wouldn't know, of course, wherever she is on her bike and texting him from afar, having taken the night off to cool off, in her words. Whatever must have happened doesn't seem to still bother her too much, but maybe that's wishful thinking, 'cause Shizuo knows better than to ask without being prompted.

[Shizuo: Not really.] And that's the honest to hell truth, however he can explain while here where she can't see the strangeness of Izaya sleeping on his shoulder, like they don't hate each other the rest of the time. It's an odd picture, awkward almost if Shizuo spends time thinking over it and decides to focus on dinner, only to realize he isn't very hungry, and Izaya keeps echoing the same thing.

Maybe he'll let it slide this time.

 _[Knew he wouldn't. You sure you don't need me to come by, make sure you haven't ripped each other apart?]_ Outside is darker than sunset, concealing Celty in shadows as she sits under a street light, phone in her hand as the buzz of the city never fades in the coming night.

The next text from him, _[yeah, I'm sure. See you later.]_ is more reassuring than she thought it would be. Though it leaves her by herself now, since she's already said her goodbyes and she's sure Shizuo has more than enough on his plate. But it's not so bad, taking in the crisp air of the oncoming autumn as the night chills and darkens, leaving the street light as a shining beacon for some semblance of hope, for whatever it is Celty can't pinpoint in words.

Her arms are wrapped around her chest, not so desperate as they could be but certainly devoid of warmth, mirroring the other side of the city where Shizuo finds himself now a new futon. Except with him it's a sigh, having tried unsuccessfully to shake Izaya off and make him stop sleeping because he'll be up all night and therefore more annoying.

The sleepy, dry voice of his isn't helping. Nor are the slits of his eyes when he grumbles in protest. "Shut up, Shizu-chan." His arm suddenly moves, the right one while the other struggles limply to curl his fingers, while he reaches up and tugs on a strand of bleached blond hair and gives a cruel smile. "You're so stupid."

"Yeah, fuck you," Shizuo grunts, giving a halfhearted shove to Izaya who surprisingly catches himself, but then that's _Izaya_ and it's also _Izaya_ who mimics the curse with a stupid little laugh and brushes his lips against Shizuo's jaw.

Shizuo, however, is the one to let it _slide_ into a lazy and certainly unforgiving kiss, figuring he's picking up some terrible habits while he's at it. Izaya seems too pleased to have him wrapped around his fingers, pulling at his hair with a tug that keeps him there, little voices like high-pitched whispers ignored in the back of his head, he's already doomed.

One less thing to think about, that's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Caramello and AkumaAuditore, both who haven't managed to give up faith in me, and the latter for [beautifully done fanart](http://akumaauditore.deviantart.com/art/2015-Sketch-Edge-610245957) of one of my favorite parts of this story and for [this chapter.](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Slow-Motions-631053816) As well to my beta reader, who is also excellent at haunting the dead.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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